1 


Di?iv.®flll.  Library 
51 


\ 


y . 




f$''^  LEON AKD  AND  IlliS  SlSTEli. 

• Invisible  and  yet  to  be  seen — now  by  the  eyeN  j , 
of  faith,  by  and  by,  face  to  face,  and  forever.”  ^ 1 


w 


THE 


BEOTHER’S  WATCHWORD. 


NEW  YORK: 

ROBERT  CARTER  & BROTHERS, 

No.  530  BRO  ADW  AY. 


1862 


PRINTED  BY 
O.  JENKINS 


8TEEEOTYPED  BY 

SMITH  & McDOUGAL,  E. 

84  Beekmau-st.,  N.  Y. 


3 S '*^9 


CONTENTS 


PAG* 

L— THE  LITTLE  SISTER 5 

IL— A WORD  IN  SEASON 19 

III. — NEW  SCENES 35 

IV. — SYMPATHY 55 

Y— SEPARATION T1 

VI.— A NEW  PROTECTOR 83 

^ VII.— THE  DRAWING  LESSON 106 

V 

: vm.— WALTER’S  STORY 124 

\ IX.— UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES 144 

^ • X.— UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE 162 

XL— ANGER  AND  SORROW 180 

•;  XIL— LLOYD’S  DISCOVERY 199 

■^IIL— THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT 220 

XIV. - PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND 244 

XV. — RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS 266 

XVI. — LLOYD  S SACRIFICE 284 

XVII.— THE  WEDDING... 299 


THE  BROTHER’S  WATCHWORD. 


I. 

THE  LITTLE  SISTER* 

“There  are  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 
Of  human  care  and  crime, 

With  whom  the  melodies  abide 
Of  th’  everlasting  chime.” 

afternoon  of  a short  and  chill  November 
day  was  fast  fading  into  twilight.  It  was  use- 
less straining  her  eyes  any  longer  through  the 
evening  shadow,  and  the  dull  heavy  mist  which  ac- 
companied it ; so  Georgina  Archdale  rose  from  her 
seat  in  the  large  bay-window,  and  began,  though  at 
first  with  rather  a reluctant  air,  to  pull  down  blinds 
and  close  the  shutters.  Those  were  small  hands  to 
lift  that  creaking  bar,  and  pull  the  heavy  crimson 
curtains ; but  they  moved  steadily  and  dexterously, 
as  though  well  accustomed  to  the  task  ; and,  when 
the  last  fold  was  settled  and  arranged  quite  to  her 
satisfaction,  she  tripped  lightly  across  the  room,  and 
subjected  the  fire  to  the  same  energetic  arrange- 
ment, heaping  on  fresh  coals,  till  the  glowing  flames 
brightened  up  with  their  dancing,  flickering  light  the 
very  remotest  corner  of  the  apartment.  Then  a 
1^ 


6 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


capacious  easy-chair  was  pulled  out  to  one  side  of 
the  fire-place,  and  a little  round  table  placed  just  in 
front.  A small  porcelain  lamp,  ready  trimmed, 
but  not  lighted,  together  with  a newspaper  and 
half-a-dozen  unopened  letters,  were  duly  arranged 
on  the  table : a pair  of  slippers  embroidered  on 
dark  purple  cloth  were  slipped  just  inside  the 
bronze  fender ; and  then  the  preparations  seemed 
complete. 

“ He  must  be  here  now  soon,  I should  fancy 
and  with  the  words  the  little  figure  tripped  again 
across  the  room,  disappeared  behind  the  curtains, 
and  the  shutters  were  heard  rattling  again.  But 
looking  out  was  more  hopeless  now  than  before : 
the  mist  had  become  far  denser,  and  nothing  but 
darkness  at  all  perceptible ; so  with  a slight  shiver 
— for  after  the  hot  fire  the  very  atmosphere  of  the 
window  seemed  chilly — Georgina  was  contented  to 
replace  the  bar  finally,  and  take  up  a more  com- 
fortable position  on  a low  stool,  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fire-place. 

A book  lay  open  on  her  knees,  its  pages  illumi- 
nated by  the  firelight,  and  she  tried  to  read ; but 
her  attention  was  not  much  fixed.  At  every  fan- 
cied sound  she  started  and  listened,  then,  when  it 
died  away,  turned  to  her  book  again,  and  read,  or 
appeared  to  do  so.  Thus  half  an  hour  passed ; and 
then  it  was  no  mere  illusion  ; horses’  feet  were  dis- 
tinctly heard  coming  up  the  road,  then  a stoppage, 
the  swing  of  an  iron  gate,  and  steps  a little  slower ; 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER. 


7 


a confused  clattering  outside  the  house^  and  then 
the  well-known  lengthened  rap  at  the  front  door. 
Another  minute,  and  the  object  of  so  much  prepa- 
ration and  expectation  appeared  in  the  library. 

The  book  dropped  from  Georgina’s  lap,  as  she 
rose  to  greet  him.  The  very  tall,  manly  figure, 
half  hid  in  cloaks  and  wraps,  which  he  had  not  tar- 
ried in  the  hall  to  disburden  himself  of,  stooped  to 
meet  the  little  upstretched  face,  on  which  was  be- 
stowed a hearty  kiss.  There  were  no  ecstatic  ex- 
pressions of  joy  on  either  side,  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  eager  waiting  of  the  younger  one  ; 
not  a word  indeed  passed  further  than  the  murmured, 
heartfelt  “ God  bless  you,  darling,”  which  accom- 
panied the  first  embrace,  until  the  travelling  gear 
was  all  removed,  and  the  brother  seated  by  the 
fireside  in  the  comfortable  position  his  little  sister 
had  assigned  him.  The  tall  form  seemed  more  ap- 
proachable then  ; she  came  and  stood  by  his  side; 
and,  as  he  passed  his  arm  around  her  shoulder,  he 
said  tenderly, 

“ And  have  you  been  very  lonely,  little  Geor- 
gie  r 

“ No,”  she  answered.  But  the  tone  seemed  to 
belie  the  word ; and,  as  he  turned  to  look  into  her 
face,  he  saw  the  large  eyes  brimniing  full  of  tears, 
which  would  force  their  way  down  the  child’s  cheek 
notwithstanding  the  smile  which  at  the  same  time 
lighted  up  her  pale  face. 

There  have  not  been  many  of  these,  1 hope,” 


8 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


he  said  rather  gravely,  but  drawing  her  nearer 
as  he  spoke,  “ or  I shall  not  Jike  to  leave  you 
again.” 

‘‘  No,  brother  dear,  not  one  until  now,  except  in- 
deed the  very  morning  you  went ; but  you  know  it 
is  the  first  time  we  have  been  parted  since” — here 
she  stopped. 

“ I know  it,  Georgie,”  he  said : “ in  the  world 
where  he  is  gone  there  will  be  no  partings  or  sep- 
arations at  all  for  ever ; it  will  be  one  long  unbro- 
ken meeting.  You  must  think  of  that  dear,  when 
you  feel  lonely  here.” 

‘‘  I have  tried,  brother,”  she  murmured  softly ; 
“ and  I think  I have  realized  it  a little  since  you 
have  been  away.” 

He  kissed  her  again  very  fondly;  and  then  a 
servant  entered  to  say  that  dinner  was  waiting. 

“ Ah ! I forgot,”  the  little  girl  exclaimed,  as  she 
took  his  hand  to  the  dining-room,  “ all  about  din- 
ner ; and  how  hungry  you  must  be  ! w^hy  you  have 
been  trave  ling  all  the  afternoon.” 

“ Exactly,  my  dear ; and  I am  rather  hungry, 
and  very  glad  to  find  myself  at  home  once  more.” 

On  returning  to  the  library,  after  dinner,  they 
found  the  lamps  lighted.  The  brother  took  up  his 
former  position,  and  began  opening  and  perusing 
the  letters  which  had  arrived  during  his  absence. 
Georgie  drew  her  low  stool  from  the  place  she  had 
before  occupied,  to  her  brother’s  side,  and  sat  there 
quietly  w’orking,  with  an  air  of  happy  repose  on 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER. 


9 


her  features,  very  different  now  in  their  expression 
from  what  they  were  an  hour  or  two  before. 

Let  us  take  a nearer  view  of  Leonard  Archdale 
as  he  sits  for  those  few  minutes,  busily  engaged 
with  the  contents  of  his  epistles.  Very  tall,  and 
slight  rather  than  the  contrary,  but  neither  thin  nor 
stooping.  His  face  is  not  handsome,  but  grave  and 
earnest  in  its  expression — almost  stern,  indeed,  in 
its  seriousness ; his  presence  altogether  such  that 
the  most  giddy  and  unthinking  would  hesitate  be- 
fore speaking  light  or  foolish  words  in  his  hearing. 
The  glance  of  the  sober  gray  eye  was  slumbering 
just  now  ; but  when  awakened  it  kindled  and  pen- 
etrated so  that  the  boldest  quailed  beneath  it ; and 
none  that  saw  that  spirit  once  aroused,  aroused  on 
behalf  of  justice,  or  humanity,  or  truth,  would  wish 
to  regard  him  as  their  adversary.  But  the  serious 
sobriety  of  countenance  and  demeanor  was  not  mis- 
placed ; for  Leonard  Archdale  was  a clergyman. 
Of  his  age  it  seemed  difficult,  even  at  a lengthened 
glance,  to  form  any  correct  estimate.  People  in 
general  set  him  down  as  somewhere  bordering  on 
thirty  ; had  Georgie  been  asked,  she  might  have 
said  somewhat  less.  His  voice — and  there  is  much 
in  voice — seemed  to  accord  well  with  his  counte- 
nance ; it  was  low,  but  deep,  and  clear,  and  musi- 
cal ; and  when  he  spoke,  you  felt  that  all  he  said 
came  just  from  the  heart.  It  would  seem  that  he 
had  ever  fixed  and  clear  before  his  mental  vision 
that  sacred  motto,  “ Let  your  speech  be  always 


10 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


with  grace,”  and  the  account  that  all  must  render 
for  every  idle  word.  So  amid  strangers  he  passed 
for  a man  reserved  and  taciturn ; among  his  nearer 
relations  as  one  somewhat  too  strict  and  censorious 
in  his  notions,  but  nevertheless  worthy  of  such  an 
amount  of  respect  and  deference  as  they  would  ac- 
cord to  any  other ; but  by  his  parishioners,  among 
■whom  he  lived,  and  preached,  and  labored,  he  was 
looked  up  to  as  a perfect  model  of  devotedness, 
piety,  and  wisdom  of  every  kind ; his  advice  and 
counsel  sought  on  every  needed  occasion,  and  re- 
ceived with  the  utmost  affection  and  reverence. 

In  these  latter  feelings,  as  may  well  be  imagined, 
his  little  sister  largely  participated  ; to  her  he  was 
every  thing,  supplying  at  the  same  time  the  place  of 
parents,  sister,  and  brother.  All  these  precious  re- 
lationships she  had  once  enjoyed ; but  one  after 
another  each  beloved  one  had  been  taken  from  her ; 
and  now  for  the  last  two  years  these  two  had  been 
left  alone,  the  eldest  and  youngest  of  a once  united 
and  loving  family.  The  father  was  the  last  one 
taken ; and  his  death  was  a sudden  and  frightful 
one.  He  was  returning  home  from  an  afternoon’s 
drive  with  his  lijbtle  girl,  when  one  of  the  horses, 
startled  by  an  apparent  danger,  took  fright,  and  set 
off  at  an  alarming  speed.  The  father,  forgetful  of 
the  danger  he  was  incurring,  and  thinking  only  of 
his  child,  jumped  from  his  seat,  and  attempted  to 
arrest  the  progress  of  the  affrighted  animals  ; but 
in  vain  ; a more  desperate  plunge  knocked  him  to 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER. 


11 


the  ground  : both  horse  and  carriage  passed  over 
his  head,  and  left  him  there  a lifeless  corpse.  The 
child  was  saved ; but  the  shock  had  been  well  nigh 
too  much  for  her : a dangerous  illness  succeeded, 
from  which  she  was  long  in  recovering,  and  which 
left  her  in  a sort  of  nervous,  sensitive  state,  very 
unlike  her  former  self  for  many  months.  It  was 
during  this  long  illness  that  the  links  which  bound 
her  to  her  brother  were  fastened  so  strongly.  For- 
merly she  had  loved  him  indeed,  but  at  a distance 
— not  with  the  love  she  bore  her  father ; there  was 
a little  awe  mixed  up  with  it.  He  had  appeared 
to  her  very  grave  and  unapproachable,  wrapped  up 
in  his  books  and  studies ; and  then  such  a differ- 
ence in  age.  But  now  every  thing  was  laid  aside 
— studies,  books,  friendly  engagements,  and  all  for 
her — all,  that  he  might  soothe  and  interest  that  little 
pale  mournful  child,  who  for  many  weeks  after  her 
father’s  death  was  never  seen  to  smile.  And  in 
time  his  efforts  succeeded ; a quiet  calm  followed 
the  first  bursts  of  passionate  feeling,  when,  after  a 
long  confinement  up  stairs,  Georgie  came  down  to 
take  her  usual  place  in  the  now  diminished  house- 
hold, and  to  fulfil  her  daily  tasks  and  duties.  And 
by  degrees,  too,  a returning  interest  in  life  and  its 
pursuits  came  back ; her  brother,  by  his  kind  and 
judicious  management,  gradually  led  her  not  indeed 
to  forget  the  past,  but  to  look  on  it  through  the  soft- 
ened, hallowed  light  of  submission.  The  stroke, 
though  severe  and  agonizing,  was  sent  by  a Father’s 


12 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


hand,  kind  and  always  wise ; and  that  Father  was  her 
Father,  more  tender,  more  loving  by  far  than  the 
earthly  one  taken  from  her.”  The  words  sank  into 
the  child’s  heart : she  felt  and  believed  them  ; and 
from  that  time  her  step  grew  lighter,  and  her  coun- 
tenance was  no  longer  clouded  and  mournful, 
‘‘  Her  Father  in  heaven  ” she  could  now  look  up  to 
with  a trusting,  submissive  heart,  and  give  thanks 
even  for  her  last  great  grief;  for  it  had  led  her 
nearer  to  Him. 

Leonard  Archdale  had  been  ordained  not  long 
before  his  father’s  death;  and,  about  six  months 
after  that  event,  he  went  to  take  possession  of  the 
living  at  Beechwood,  given  him,  notwithstanding 
his  extreme  youth,  by  the  Bishop  of  U , a dis- 

tant relative,  who  well  knew  his  w^orth  and  active 
energy.  So  they  left  the  old  home,  and  with  it 
much  that  was  bitter  in  the  w^ay  of  association  from 
the  loss  of  many  dear  ones ; and  now  they  had 
found  a new,  and  in  most  respects  a happy  one,  in 
the  rectory  of  Beechwood,  an  unpretending  village 
in  one  of  the  midland  counties.  The  brother  and 
sister  had  but  few  relatives  : the  nearest  w^as  Sir 
William  Archdale,  their  father’s  elder  brother. 
He  had  a large  family ; and  with  them,  at  the  time 
my  tale  commences,  Leonard  had  been  spending  a 
day  or  two,  in  his  way  from  London,  where  he  had 
been  called  on  urgent  business  a w^eek  beforehand. 

When  the  last  letter  was  finished,  Mr.  Archdale 
turned  to‘  his  little  sister — “ Well,  Georgie,”  he 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER. 


13 


said,  “ we  were  so  busy  during  dinner  discussing 
honae  affairs,  that  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  to  ask 
me  any  particulars  about  my  adventures.” 

“ Yes,  I have  lots  of  things  to  ask  about  when 
you  are  quite  ready,”  she  answered  ; and  dropping 
her  work,  she  drew  still  closer  to  his  side,  folded 
her  arms  across  his  knee,  and  looked  up  in  his  face. 
“ Begin,  then,  dear  ; what  is  tile  first 
“Well,  I hardly  know  where  to  begin,”  she  re* 
plied,  laughing : “ I want  to  hear  about  the  wedding:, 
when  Cousin  Clara  is  to  be  married,  hovv  you  liked 
Mr.  Isbel,  whether  my  other  cousins  s-eem  sorry  to 
lose  her,  and  a great  many  things  besides.” 

Leonard  smiled.  “ I suppose  I may  as  well, 
then,  begin  with  the  most  important  piece  of  news 
first.  The  wedding  comes  off  the  week  before 
Christmas;  and  you  are  invited  to  go,  and  act  the 
part  of  a bridesmaid  I suppose,  on  the  occasion.” 
“O,  Leonard  !”  exclaimed  she,  her  face  lighting 
up  for  a moment,  but  instantly  becoming  sobered 
again  ; “ but  I am  not  going.” 

“ Why  not,  my  dear  ? Yes,  I have  promised  you 
should.” 

“ O,  Leonard !”  was  all  she  said  again,  in  a tone 
of  mingled  surprise  and  sorrow, 

“ Do  you  not  like  to  go,  Georgie  ? I am  sorry, 
dear  ; but  I thought  now  you  might  not  mind.” 

“ For  some  things  I shall  like  it,  Leonard,”  she 
answered,  after  a little;  “you  will  be  there,  of 
course,  because  you  are  going  to  help  -to  marry 
2 


14 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


Clara,  and  so  it  will  not  seem  so  bad  as  going  away 
from  home.” 

“ 1 shall  only  be  there  a very  little  of  the  time ; 
you  know  I can  not  be  spared^’ 

‘‘Then  how  long  am  I to  stay?”  she  inquired 
rather  mournfully. 

“A  month  was  the  shortest  time  they  would 
hear  of;  so  I said  I would  try  and  spare  you  as 
long  as  that.  But,  Georgie,  darling,  come,  tell  me 
why  it  is  you  don’t  like  going  to  Leighton;  so 
many  cousins,  and  your  uncle  and  aunt  longing  to 
see  you ; I am  only  afraid  you  will  be  a little 
spoiled,  and  unwilling  to  come  back  to  your  lonely 
bachelor-brother  again.” 

“ Leonard,  you  must  not  say  so,”  she  replied, 

“ Tell  me  your  reasons  then,  dear ; have  you 
any  besides  not  liking  to  leave  me  ?”  ' 

“ Yes,  one  or  two,”  she  answered,  rather  eva-  ^ 
sively,  and  looking  down  as  she  spoke. 

“ Tell  me  them.” 

“ I think  I had  rather  not,  Leonard,  if  you  don’t 
mind.” 

“ 1 do  mind,  Georgie,  dear ; I want  to  know.” 

He  spoke  very  kindly  but  decidedly  ; and  the  little 
girl  never  thought  of  refusing  when  he  spoke  so. 

“ I am  afraid  it  will  be  very  gay  there,”  she  said 
in  a low  tone ; “ I shall  have  to  stay  over  Christ- 
mas ; and  perhaps  there  will  be  parties  and  com- 
pany ; and,  brother,  you  remember  your  sermon 
last  Sunday  ?” 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER. 


15 


“ Which  one  he  asked. 

“ About  walking  with  God ; and  you  said  how 
much  more  difficult  it  was  when  we  are  in  worldly 
company,  or  among  people  that  do  not  love  God 
most  of  all ; and  1 felt  happy  then,  because  I was 
not  exposed  to  that  temptation  and  I do  not  want 
to  be,  dear  Leonard.’^ 

“ My  love,”  said  Leonard  gravely,  “ you  are  very 
right,  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  put  you  in  the  way 
of  any  temptation  which  might  lead  you  aside  from 
a close  walk  with  God ; but,  Georgie,  dear,  do 
you  expect  never  to  come  in  contact  with  the 
world?” 

“ I must,  I suppose,  some  day,”  she  answered 
doubtfully. 

“ Yes,  dear,  you  must ; hut  I want  you  to  re- 
member that  there  is  such  a thing  as  being  in  the 
world,  but  not  of  it ; and  when  you  find  yourself 
thrown  among  those  who  love  the  world  better  than 
God,  you  must  pray  for  grace  to  show  by  your 
daily  walk  and  demeanor  how  for  more  satisfying 
and  enduring  your  pleasures  are  than  those  which 
they  look  upon  as  such.  Which  do  you  think  would 
be  the  most  valued  and  honored  soldier — one  that 
had  been  exposed  to  many  hard-fought  battles  and 
dangerous  assaults  from  cruel  and  malignant  ene- 
mies, or  one  who  had  lived  quietly  in  his  tent  all 
his  life,  without  so  much  as  ever  having  seen  the 
foe,  from  the  fear  of  being  wounded,  or  proving 
cowardly  at  the  last  1” 


16 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“O,  the  first,  dear  Leonard;  but  the  tent  does 
seem  the  safest  place  for  the  weak  ones.” 

“ Listen,  Georgie,”  her  brother  said,  taking  a 
small  volume  from  his  pocket,  and  reading  ; ‘The 
conquering  commander  triumpheth  ; yet  had  he 
not  conquered  unless  he  had  fought ; and,  the  more 
peril  there  was  in  the  battle,  so  much  the  more  joy 
is  there  in  the  triumph.’^  You  would  like  to  have 
the  joy  of  triumphing  at  last,  would  you  not?” 

“ O yes  : but  I am  so  weak,  so  constantly  turning 
aside,  even  here.” 

“I  know  it;  and  did  I not  feel  persuaded  that 
you  have  an  arm  stronger  than  your  own  to  lean  on, 
I would  not  wish  you  even  to  approach  the  enemy’s 
grounds.  I do  think  you  will  find  Leighton  Hall 
quite  different  from  any  thing  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed to;  more  time  and  thought  given  to  things 
of  no  real  value,  and  heaven  and  its  realities  thrown 
into  the  background.  But  you  will  have  the  same 
strength  there  as  here,  if  you  seek  it.  You  must 
pray,  and  I shall  pray  for  you,  dearest,  that,  during 
the  short  time  you  are  there,  you  may  be  enabled 
to  let  your  little  light  shine  before  men,  and  to  keep 
your  garments  unspotted  from  the  world.” 

The  little  girl  looked  up  again  into  her  brother’s 
face  as  he  spoke : it  was  more  than  usually  grave 
and  earnest ; and  she  felt  that,  if  that  calm  serious 
presence  were  always  near  her,  she  should  be  in 
less  danger  of  going  astray.  Perhaps  he  guessed  a 
* St  Augustine’s  Confessions. 


THE  LITTLE  SISTER. 


17 


little  what  was  passing  in  her  mind ; for  he  re- 
peated slowly  and  impressively  those  words,  “ The 
joy  of  the  Lord  is  your  strength  and  she  felt  that 
any  thing  human,  however  excellent,  was  far  too 
w^eak  to  lean  upon — that  whatever  strength  she 
needed  must  come  from  on  high. 

After  a few  minutes’"  silence,  Leonard  asked, 
“Was  that  your  only  other  reason,  Georgie  ?” 

She  colored.  “ O there  was  another ; but  it  was 
a very  wrong  and  wdcked  one ; so  do  not  ask  me 
to  tell.” 

“Is  that  any  reason  you  should  hide  it  from 
me  ?” 

“ No,”  she  replied  ; and  then  with  a great  effort, 
and  hiding  her  head  upon  her  folded  arms  as  she 
pronounced  the  words,  “My  cousins  are  all  so 
beautiful !”  And  then  she  added — for  Leonard  was 
silent  for  some  moments — “O,  brother,  do  not  de- 
spise me  ; you  wished  me  to  tell  you  all ; and  the 
thought  was  there,  so  I could  not  deceive  you.” 

Mr.  Archdale  felt  very  far  from  despising  the 
little  pale  and  now  weeping  face  that  rested  on  his 
knee ; but  he  did  feel  some  surprise,  never  having 
guessed  for  a moment  that  such  thoughts  were  pass- 
ing in  her  breast.  He  said  gentl}^  at  last,  “ * Even 
the  ornament  of  a meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which  is 
in  the  sight  of  God  of  great  price.’  I do  not  de- 
spise you  in  the  least,  Georgie ; I only  thank  you 
for  the  confidence  you  have  placed  in  me.  Your 
cousins  are  no  doubt  outwardly  much  more  beauti- 
2^- 


18 


THE  BROTHER'S  WATCHWORD. 


ful  than  you  ; but,  as  long  as  you  are  adorned  with 
that  ornament  of  which  St.  Peter  speaks,  it  matters 
very  little  whether  your  face  be  plain  or  hand- 
some ; and  all  the  beauty  in  the  world  is  vain  and 
contemptible  without  it.  You  know  this,  Oeorgie, 
as  well  as  I do,  and  feel  it  too,  I think.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  was  the  answer  between  her  tears ; 
and  O,  Leonard,  I do  feel  sorry  for  having  in- 
dulged in  such  thoughts.” 

‘^Lay  this,  with  all  your  other  feelings  of  sin,  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross,  dear  Georgie  ; and  you  need 
not  think  it  a strange  thing  that  has  happened  to 
you.  Our  hearts  are  prone  to  every  kind  of  sin, 
and  that  of  pride  overtakes  us  in  a thousand  ways  ; 
a desire  to  be  admired  and  thought  well  of  by 
others  is  one  of  the  most  common.  Young  as  you 
are,  I know  you  often  find  this,  and  it  is  a thing  you 
must  specially  watch  and  strive  against.  Pray  that 
you  may  be  willing  to  be  thought  little,  even  noth- 
ing of,  in  keeping  close  to  God,  rather  than  be 
courted  and  esteemed  by  your  fellow-creatures  in  a 
path  of  careless  un watchfulness.” 


II. 


WORD  m SSASOIT. 


“ The  tears  we  shed  for  sin, 

When  heaven  alone  can  see, 

Leave  truer  peace  within 

Than  worldly  smiles,  which  cannot  be 
Lit  up,  my  God,  with  smiles  from  thee.” 

Monsell. 

FTER  his  sister  had  left  him  for  the  night,  Leo- 
nard Archdale  sat  for  a long  time  in  rather  an 
anxious  fit  of  meditation.  The  conversation 
which  had  just  passed  had  somewhat  unsettled  his 
mind  as  to  the  desirableness  of  the  step  he  had 
taken  in  consenting  to  Georgina’s  visiting  his  uncle’s 
family,  even  for  the  short  time  mentioned.  He  had 
seemed  at  the  time  in  a manner  forced  to  agree  to 
the  proposal ; and  even  now  he  felt  that  it  could 
not  be  set  aside,  notwithstanding  the  evident  shrink- 
ing both  had  to  the  temporary  separation,  and  the 
trial  he  felt  it  would  be  to  one  whose  principles  had 
never  before  had  occasion  to  be  tried,  and  conse- 
quently might  prove  weak  and  easily  overcome. 
He  wmuld  have  saved  her  this  her  first  initiation 
into  the  ways  of  the  world,  as  they  are  called,  had 
it  been  in  his  power ; but,  on  lengthened  considera- 
tion, he  felt  it  was  not. 


20 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


Sir  William  Archdale,  his  uncle,  was  joint  guar- 
dian with  himself  to  Georgina  ; and  many  many 
times  since  her  father’s  death  had  he  urged  the  wish 
that  part  of  her  time  should  be  spent  at  his  own 
country  residence,  Leighton  Hall ; or,  if  not  a reg- 
ular portion  of  each  year,  that  at  any  rate  she  should 
make  a lengthened  visit,  and  become  more  ac- 
quainted with  her  cousins,  of  whom  during  all  her 
life  she  had  seen  but  very  little.  Leonard,  how- 
e-^er,  had  hitherto  managed  to  decline  all  these  in- 
vitations. There  was  the  plea  of  ill-health  ; for,  at 
the  best  of  times,  Georgie  w^as  not  strong,  and  the 
'air  of  Beech  wood  seemed  to  agree  with  her.  Then 
his  own  isolated  position,  with  no  one  but  herself 
to  bear  him  company — ^it  would  seem  hard  to  de- 
prive him  of  her.  And,  lastly,  the  little  girl’s  ex- 
treme reluctance  to  the  thought  of  leaving  home 
and  him ; all  these  excuses  had  hitherto  served  ; 
and  Georgie  had  not  yet  seen  Leighton. 

But,  during  his  last  visit,  Leonard  had  been  afi'esh 
assailed  with  new  and  very  urgent  entreaties  on  the 
visiting  question,  and  found  that  none  of  the  former 
excuses  were  at  all  admissible.  Sir  William,  in- 
deed, grew  warm  on  the  subject. 

It  is  all  very  w’ell^  Leonard,”  he  said  to  him, 
“ this  plan  of  yours  of  bringing  up  your  sister  by 
herself,  in  that  remote  corner  of  the  country,  with- 
out a creature  of  her  own  station  to  associate  with ; 
but  a little  bit  selfish  at  bottom.  We  want  to  en- 
joy a little  of  her  company  as  well  as  yourself ; 


A WORD  IN  SEASON. 


21 


and,  besides,  this  recluse  system  does  not  answer. 
If  she  is  never  to  see  any  thing  of  the  world  be- 
yond Beechwood,  the  young  lady  will  be  a perfect 
ascetic,  and  be  troubled  before  long  with  fits  of 
melancholy,  and  morbid  notions  of  every  descrip- 
tion. You  must  let  her  free  a little,  indeed  you 
must,  if  you  ever  wish  her  to  make  any  thing  of  a 
figure  in  the  world.” 

“ That  is  the  last  thing  I desire  for  her,”  said 
Leonard,  shortly.  But  his  uncle  appeared  not  to 
notice  the  shade  on  his  brow,  and  continued  : 

“ And,  as  for  her  health,  why,  the  change  would 
do  her  an  immensity  of  good : pure  air,  and  a 
healthy  place  this,  Leonard.  You  say  she  is  look- 
ing pale : a month  or  twm  here  would  soon  bring 
the  rose  into  her  cheeks,  Pll  answer  for  it.  Then, 
’tis  the  best  possible  place  to  be  ill  in.  Dr.  Sel- 
field  in  the  house  every  other  day  to  see  your  aunt, 
so  that  if  any  thing  was  the  matter  it  could  soon  be 
set  right.  You  seem  afraid  to  trust  her  among  us, 
eh,  Leonard  f ’ 

He  w^as  about  to  reply,  when  the  entrance  of 
other  members  of  the  family  put  an  end  to  the 
conversation  for  that  evening.  The  following  morn- 
ing, however,  it  was  renew^ed ; and,  finding  that  Sir 
William  was  determined  to  gain  his  point,  and  that 
farther  objection  might  appear  at  the  very  least  un- 
grateful, if  not  leading  to  more  serious  consequen- 
ces, Mr.  Archdale  at  last  gave  way,  and  promised 
that  the  long  talked  of  visit  should  be  made,  and 


22 


THE  BROTHER'S  WATCHWORB. 


Georgina  should  accompany  him  to  Leighton  in 
about  a month’s  time  ; when,  as  the  little  girl  her- 
self had  expressed  it,  be  was  to  return  to  help  to 
marry  Clara. 

Of  course  this  would  involve  her  being  one  of 
the  younger  bridesmaids ; and  the  cousins  were 
well  pleased  with  the  arrangement. 

Leonard  himself  could  only  promise  to  remain 
till  the  day  after  the  wedding ; but  Georgie  he  said 
he  would  leave  behind  for  a month,  that  being  the 
longest  time  he  could  possibly  consent  to  spare  her. 
With  this  understanding  he  was  allowed  to  depart 
peaceably ; though  Sir  William  assured  him  that 
the  visit  should  be  repeated  in  the  summer,  and  for 
a much  longer  period.  Leonard’s  anxiety  extend- 
ed not  so  far  as  that ; it  was  the  first  touch  of  as- 
similation that  he  dreaded  most ; and  now  the 
sooner  that  was  passed  the  better. 

“I  breathe  more  freely!^  exclaimed  Frances 
Archdale,  snatching  up  the  third  volume  of  a novel, 
and  throwing  herself  into  a capacious  easy -chair  by 
the  side  of  the  fire.  The  words  were  spoken  just 
as  the  front  door  closed,  and  the  carriage,  which  was 
conveying  Leonard  to  the  station,  drove  rapidly 
down  the  avenue  leading  from  Leighton  Hall.  The 
speaker  was  a tall  and  very  handsome  girl,  Sir 
William’s  second  daughter ; and  she  addressed  her- 
self to  her  elder  sister,  who  was  engaged  with 
rather  a complex  pattern  of  embroidery,  and  who 


A WORD  IN  SEASON. 


23 


only  looked  up  and  smiled  at  the  words  and  the 
mock  sigh  which  accompanied  them. 

“I  don’t  knowhow  you  have  felt,”  she  continued, 
in  the  same  gay,  rattling  tone;  “but,  as  for  me,  I 
have  scarcely  dared  speak,  move,  or  look,  the  last 
day  or  two,  for  fear  of  bringing  down  some  tre- 
mendous reprimand  on  my  innocent  head  from  his 
stern  majesty  who  has  just  departed.  I have  been 
very  nearly  having  it  too,  I am  certain,  more  than 
once  or  twice.  He  gave  such  an  intense  look  last 
night  when  I unluckily  mentioned  the  word  ‘ball,’ 
that  I made  good  my  escape,  and  took  care  to  avoid 
a tete-a-tete  afterwards.  Clara,  can  you  endure 
such  fearfully  grave  good  people 

“ Leonard  is  w'onderfully  clever,”  was  her  sis- 
ter’s reply. 

“Yes,  I know  that,  of  course  ; but  it  only  makes 
it  all  the  worse,  because  he  prides  himself  on  being 
so  much  more  learned  than  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  sits  up  in  his  stateliness  and  silence  as  though 
one  was  not  worth  being  spoken  to.” 

“ I don’t  think  Leonard  is  vain,  or  even  proud,” 
said  'Clara.  “ And  how  can  you  talk  of  silence  ? 
Why,  I thought  Dr.  Welldon  and  he  would  never 
have  left  off  with  their  discussions  last  night ; and 
really  he  argued  admirably.” 

“ That  may  be  ; because  he  considers  Dr.  Well- 
don as  a being  not  quite  so  contemptible  as  man- 
kind in  general,  and  so  he  gave  himself  the  trouble 
to  be  a little  sociable  with  him.” 


24 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ He  chatted  with  papa,  too,  pleasantly  enough ; 
and  mamma  said  she  quite  enjoyed  the  half  hour 
he  sat  with  her,”  Clara  replied,  without  looking  up 
from  her  work. 

“ Clara,”  exclaimed  Frances,  growing  impatient 
at  the  pertinacity  with  which  her  sister  defended 
one  who  was  not  there  to  defend  himself,  “ you 
know  this  is  all  nonsense,  and  that  in  the  bottom  of 
your  heart  you  dislike  Leonard  Archdale,  with  his 
strict  notions  and  censorious  ways,  as  thoroughly 
as  I do.” 

Clara  colored  a little.  She  did  not  wish  to  be 
untruthful ; and  perhaps,  at  the  very  bottom  of  her 
heart,  as  her  sister  said,  she  did  dislike,  or  at  any 
rate  had  disliked  him  as  much  as  she.  But  she 
was  feeling  rather  differently  just  now,  and  an- 
swered, warmly,  “Well,  and  if  I do,  it  is  not  a par- 
ticular sign  of  good  sense  or  taste,  perhaps  ; but  it 
is  not  that.  I have  no  feeling  of  positive  dislike, 
but  that  of  most  entire  uncongeniality.  We  live 
in  two  completely  different  worlds.  I,  in  one  of 
enjoyment,  of  gaiety,  and  pleasure  of  any  kind  ; he 
in  a higher,  I own,  and  perhaps  a not  less  happy 
one,  of  thought,  and  intellect,  and  religion.  Yes, 
real  religion,  I believe,”  she  added  thoughtfully. 
“ And  that  is  what  makes  him  so  different  from  the 
rest  of  us.  For  my  own  part  I can  not  enter  into 
it.  I never  did,  and  never  shall,  I am  afraid,  be 
able  to  like  it;  and  yet,  in  him  it  attracts  me. 
There  is  always  something  of  repose  and  fascina 


A WORD  IN  SEASOX, 


25 


tion  in  his  presence,  though  I always  foel  so  im- 
mensely far  below  him,  and  can  not  help  thinking 
also,  as  you  say,  that  he  considers  himself  very 
many  degrees  above  us.  But,  perhaps,  v/e  are 
wrong  in  this  : he  is  naturally  so  reserved.  And 
only  think  what  troubles  he  has  gone  through — 
enough  to  make  any  one  sober  and  religious.  Then 
he. is  a clergyman  ; and  so  it  is  only  proper,” 

‘‘Well,  I should  begin  to  tremble  for  poor  Ar- 
thur, if  I did  not  know  that  matter  was  settled,” 
said  Frances  laughingly. 

“ Ah  ! there  is  no  occasion  to  tremble  for  him.’  ’ 
And  the  sister  s flice,  which  had  become  a little 
grave  and  thoughtful,  brightened  again.  “ Arthur 
Isbel  and  I are  most  thoroughly  congenial.  We 
mean  to  go  through  life  smoothly  and  enjoyably, 
looking  only  on  the  bright  side  of  things,  and  not 
on  what  will  make  us  gloomy,  and  morose,  and  dis- 
agreeable, to  other  people  and  ourselves.” 

“Is  Georgie  like  him  inquired  Frances,  after  a 
few  moments’  silence.  “It  is  to  be  hoped  not,  or 
I pity  poor  Augusta,  as  she  will  have  most  to  do 
with  her,  I suppose.” 

“ O,  no ; at  least  not  when  I saw  her  ; but  that 
is  three  or  fjur  years  ago  now,  and  she  may  be  al- 
tered. Nothing  could  be  merrier  and  brighter  than 
she  was  then ; but  she  felt  our  uncle’s  death  so 
dreadfully,  you  know,  and  has  never  been  thor- 
oughly well  since,  I believe. 

“Poor child!  Well,  we  had  better  expect  the 
8 


26 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


worst,  and  do  our  best  to  enliven  her  up,  if  she 
needs  it.  But,  now  for  a little  quiet.  I have  been 
almost  dying  the  last  two  days  to  know  the  end  of 
this  tale ; but  I was  obliged  to  hide  away  my  un- 
fortunate book,  for  fear  of  a surprise  and  repri- 
mand.” 

Frances  was  soon  buried  in  the  contents  of  her 
book,  Clara  in  her  work,  and  pleasant  imaginings 
of  the  bright  future  in  store  for  her,  when  suddenly 
and  rather  noisMy  the  door  opened,  and  a boy,  ap- 
parently about  sixteen  years  of  age,  entered  the 
room.  He  was  not  a brother  of  the  family,  evi- 
dently : not  one  single  line  or  feature  bore  the 
slightest  resemblance  to  the  countenances  of  the 
two  beautiful  girls  whose  presence  he  thus  uncere- 
moniously broke  in  upon.  His  dress  was  not  of 
the  neatest  arrangement — the  white  turn-down  col- 
lar being  crumpled,  and  the  neck-tie  fastened  one- 
sidedly  in  a knot,  and  ends  flyiug.  The  little  cap^ 
which  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  doff,  was  pulled 
down  over  his  forehead,  which  otherwise  would  not 
have  been  very  distinguishable,  from  the  waves  of 
black  hair  which  overhung  it.  His  complexion  was 
dark,  the  glance  of  his  eye  was  restless,  and  the 
prevailing  expression  of  his  countenance  indomit- 
able pride,  rendered  only  more  sensitive  and  keen 
by  the  very  fact  that  he  was  placed  in  a somewhat 
dependent  situation — a thought  ever  galling  to  an 
uncontrolled  and  undisciplined  nature. 

‘‘Where  is  Leonard  Archdale?”  he  asked  in  a 


A WORD  IN  SEASON. 


27 


tone  of  forced  civility,  and  glancing  round  the  room 
as  he  spoke. 

The  sisters,  who  had  both  looked  up  on  his  first 
entrance,  resumed  their  respective  occupations  on 
perceiving  who  the  intruder  was ; and  it  was  not 
till  he  repeated  his  question  yet  more  impatiently 
that  Frances  replied,  in  a careless  way,  “ I don’t 
know.  I’m  sure.”  It  was  her  usual  answer  to  Wal- 
ter’s inquiries  : and,  whether  correct  or  not,  it  saved 
her  some  trouble. 

Clara  laughed,  and  said,  “You  do,  Francie ! 
What  are  you  thinking  of?” 

Walter’s  small  stock  of  patience  was  fast  fading 
away.  “ Will  you  tell  me  or  not  where  Mr.  Arch- 
dale is  ?”  he  exclaimed  for  the  third  time. 

“ I have  not  the  smallest  objection  to  tell  you,” 
said  his  elder  cousin ; “ but  one  would  think  you 
might  know  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us  that  he  has 
been  gone  for  the  last  two  hours.” 

“ Gone !”  said  the  boy,  in  a voice  that  made  his 
cousin  look  up.  She  caught  the  expression  of  his 
face' for  a moment ; it  was  such  a mingling  of  pain 
and  disappointment  that  even  she  might  have  been 
troubled  for  him ; but  it  was  only  for  a moment. 
The  haughty  look  instantly  returned,  and,  with  a 
muttered  “ Thanks  for  your  trouble,”  he  quitted 
the  room,  slamming  the  door  violently  behind  him. 

“ What  a clown  that  boy  is  !”  exclaimed  Frances ; 
“think  of  his  coming  in  here  with  his  cap  on,  and 
always  disturbing  when  he  is  n’t  wanted.” 


28  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

“ He  never  seems  to  know,  either,  the  common- 
est thing  that  other  people  do,”  said  Clara.  “ He 
won’t  take  the  trouble  to  listen  or  inquire,  and  then 
is  cross  enough  if  he  is  not  told.  What  on  earth 
should  he  want  with  Leonard,  I wonder?'’ 

Poor  Walter ! What  did  he  want  ? That 
which  he  would  most  certainly  have  obtained,  had 
he  found  the  opportunity  of  demanding  it — counsel, 
sympathy,  a friend.  He  had  not  one  in  the  whole 
wide  world ; and  he  had  brought  his  proud  heart, 
which  was  yet  a wise  one  in  some  points,  to  con- 
sent to  ask  advice  from  one  who  was  the  best  cal- 
culated to  bestow  it. 

It  had  cost  him  something  to  make  up  his  mind ; 
much  wavering  and  doubt  and  questioning  with 
himself  how  such  a manifestation  of  confidence 
would  be  received ; for  he  knew  absolutely  nothing 
of  Leonard,  had  never  seen  him  till  within  the  last 
two  days ; during  which  time  not  half-a-dozen  sen- 
tences had  passed  between  them.  But  he  had  list- 
ened to  his  words  with  others,  had  marked  his  seri- 
ous, consistent  deportment,  and  had  judged,  and 
rightly  too,  that  there  was  that  in  him  very  differ- 
ent from  the  rest  of  the  family  among  whom  he 
was  thrown.  And  so  he  had  determined  to  seek 
an  interview,  lay  open  his-  difficulties,  and  the  try- 
ing position  which  he  conceived  he  occupied  in  his 
uncle’s  family,  and  perhaps  confess  something  of 
his  own  delinquencies;  for  conscience  told  Walter 
that  his  behaviour  was  not  always  blameless.  He 


A WORD  IN  SEASON. 


29 


fancied  he  could  take  reproof  from  that  calm,  dig- 
nified, although  stern  cousin  of  his,  without  any  very 
great  mortification  of  his  natural  pride ; and,  to 
carry  out  his  plan,  he  had  hastened  home  earlier 
than  usual  from  his  tutor  in  the  neighboring 
town,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  found  his  opportunity 
gone. 

After  leaving  the  library,  he  wandered  moodily 
through  the  house.  At  the  hall  door  he  met  his 
cousin  Augusta  and  her  governess  just  setting  out 
on  their  usual  morning  walk.  He  addressed  the 
former  bitterly. 

‘‘  You  might  as  well  have  done  what  I asked  you 
last  night : your  promises  just  mean  nothing;  so  I 
hope  you  will  keep  them  to  yourself  in  future.” 

“ O ! about  Leonard  ; how  could  I tell  when  he 
was  going  ? You  have  eyes  and  ears  as  well  as  I,” 
she  answered  with  provoking  indifference. 

“ You  expect  me  to  hear  all  your  private  arrange- 
ments when  I am  two  miles  off  at  Campbell’s,  I sup- 
pose,” said  Walter,  looking  up  almost  fiercely  from 
under  his  hair  and  cap.  Well,  it  is  just  of  a piece 
with  it  all ; a selfish,  conceited  set,”  he  murmured, 
as  he  pushed  his  cap  still  lower  over  his  brows,  and 
walked  off  in  another  direction.  “ And  I — I have 
been  a fool  for  thinking  any  one  belonging  to  them 
could  be  otherwise.  1 am  glad  that  fellow’s  gone, 
after  all.  I might  have  said  a little  too  much,  and 
he  have  gone  and  betrayed  me.  There’s  no  trust 
to  be  put  in  one  of  them — to  think  how  that  girl 


30 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


promised  last  night  that  she  would  let  me  know  if 
he  left  before  noon.  O to  be  free  of  them  all !” 

And,  to  give  a turn  to  his  feelings,  Walter  went 
on  a visit  to  the  stables,  and  Turner,  the  stable-boy. 

Clara  went  up  to  her  room  that  evening,  to  dress 
for  the  dancing-party  to  which  her  sister  had  alluded. 
There  was  a parcel,  directed  to  her,  lying  on  the 
table.  It  was  a handsome  present  from  Leonard, 
in  anticipation  of  her  approaching  marriage.  En- 
closed in  a separate  paper  were  two  smaller  ar- 
ticles, and  a letter.  One  was  a gold  locket,  contain- 
ing a beautiful  miniature  of  her  aunt,  Leonard’s 
mother,  whose  name  Clara  bore,  and  to  whom,  as  a 
child,  she  had  been  greatly  attached  ; the  other  was 
a small  Italian  psalter,  which  Mrs.  Archdale  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  using  constantly.  Strange 
feelings  passed  through  Clara’s  mind  as  she  handled 
these  mementos  of  one  whom  she  had  loved,  and 
who  was  passed  away.  Not  many  years  since,  and 
she  had  been  young  and  beautiful,  and  full  of  life 
as  herself ; and  now,  where  w^as  she  ? In  the  dreary 
silent  tomb.  Clara  thought  of  nothing  beyond  that 
— at  least  of  nothing  more  cheering.  A cold, 
dreamy,  lifeless  existence  of  spirit  she  might  pic- 
ture ; but  from  this  she  shrunk  even  more  than 
from  the  silence  and  stillness  of  annihilation.  Who 
could  say  ? Her  aunt  had  died  in  the  prime  of  life, 
she  might  be  taken  off  yet  earlier.  She  had  heard 
of  cases  of  sudden  death ; what  if  she  should  not 
live  even  to  see  her  wedding-day  ! There  was 


A WORD  IN  SEASON, 


31 


nothing  to  make  her  fancy  she  should  not ; but  the 
thought  of  death  came  over  her,  as  she  gazed  on 
the  features  of  the  departed  one ; and  then  she 
could  not  banish  it.  It  was  a thought  from  which 
she  always  shrank  ; it  did  not  often  trouble  her  ; 
and,  when  it  did,  she  had  generally  managed  to 
drown  it  by  company,  or  entertaining  books,  or  ex- 
citing amusements  ; and  she  had  always  found  this 
plan  answer ; ‘‘  for  the  cares  of  the  world,  and  the 
deceitfulness  of  riches,  and  the  lust  of  other  things, 
entering  in,”  will  choke  the  word,  will  blunt  the  ar- 
rows of  conviction,  and  the  fruit  of  everlasting  life 
and  peace  cannot  be  brought  forth. 

She  took  up  her  cousin’s  letter,  broke  the  seal, 
then  laid  it  down  again,  went  to  her  drawers,  and 
began  arranging  the  dress  and  ornaments  she  in- 
tended to  wear  that  night.  But  in  vain  : she  could 
not  rouse  herself  from  the  depressing  thoughts 
gathering  in  her  breast.  She  blamed  Leonard  for 
having  sent  her  such  wedding  gifts,  then  herself  for 
choosing  such  a time  to  examine  them.  “ I might 
have  guessed  there  would  be  something  gloomy,” 
she  murmured  inwardly.  She  returned  to  the 
dressing-table,  and  again  took  up  the  letter.  ‘‘  Shall 
I read  it,  or  burn  it  she  thought,  glancing  at  the 
fire,  which  at  that  moment  blazed  up  temptingly. 
Conscience  gained  the  victory.  She  unfolded  it, 
and  read.  The  first  words  were  what  might  have 
been  expected  from  any  one — kind  and  thoughtful 
congratulations  on  the  approaching  epoch  of  her  life. 


32 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


Then,  in  connexion  with  the  smaller  gifts  he  had 
sent  her,  he  alluded  in  touching  words  to  the  mem- 
ory of  his  mother.  “ Deeply,  bitterly  as  I have 
felt  her  loss,  dear  Clara,  I would  not  call  her  back 
from  that  happy  glorious  rest  on  which  she  has  en- 
tered. And  now,  with  her  calm  hoi}  countenance 
smiling  as  it  were  upon  me,  I feel  emboldened  to 
ask  you  if  you  are  prepared,  when  the  conflict  of 
this  life  is  over,  for  the  rest  she  now  enjoys '?  You 
do  not  find  it  a conflict,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me. 
Ah  ! I wish  you  did.  There  is  no  victory  without 
combat : the  sweetest  joys  are  born  of  trouble  and 
anguish.  Are  you  living  for  the  glory  of  God,  or 
for  your  own  pleasure  and  gratification  merely  ? 
‘I  fear  hell,’  perhaps  you  will  say, ‘and  I should 
like  to  obtain  heaven.’  That  is  not  enough,  dear 
Clara;  with  such  feelings,  instead  of  longing  for  the 
presence  of  God,  it  might  be  a relief  to  your  mind 
to  hear  that  there  was  no  such  Being  at  all,  provided 
your  happiness  after  death  were  insured,  or,  at  any 
rate,  your  freedom  from  punishment.  You  do  not 
wish  for  heaven  in  order  to  enjoy  communion  with 
the  Highest;  for  you  know  his  service  here  is  dis- 
tasteful to  you ; you  simply  desire  it  as  an  escape 
from  the  punishment  of  hell.  Am  I going  too  far 
in  supposing  this  is  the  case  with  you '?  Your  own 
conscience  will  tell  you  if  I am,  and  tell  you  also 
* that  your  state  is  one  of  fearful  danger.  And,  if 
not,  let  me,  in  saying  Good  bye,  give  you  a few 
words  of  blessed  invitation  and  encouragement. 


A WORD  IN  SEASON. 


33 


•Return  unto  the  Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy 
upon  you ; and  to  our  God,  for  he  will  abundantly 
pardon  you  ‘ When  he  was  yet  a great  way  off,  the 
father  saw  him,  and  had  compassion:’  ‘Before  ye 
call,  I will  answer ; while  ye  are  yet  speaking,  I will 
hear.’  And,  should  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  con- 
vince you  now  of  your  sin,  and  your  heart  whisper 
in  silent  anguish,  ‘ What  can  I do  V let  me  warn 
you  in  the  words  of  a holy  man  of  God,  long  since 
gone  to  his  rest,  that  ‘ If  a traveller  sleep  or  trifle 
most  of  the  day,  he  must  travel  so  much  the  faster 
in  the  evening,  or  fall  short  of  his  journey’s  end.’ 
It  may  not  be  evening  with  you  as  yet ; but  still  is 
it  not  ever  true  that  ‘ the  night  cometh  V ” 

Clara  ceased  reading,  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
eyelids,  and  burst  into  a tumult  of  tears.  “ It  is 
true — true,”  she  murmured  ; “ my  life  has  been 
more  than  wasted.  I am  not  fit  for  heaven.  I can- 
not with  sincerity  call  God  my  Father  ; and  yet  he 
is.  O Lord !”  she  prayed,  and  perhaps  it  was  the 
first  true  prayer  that  she  had  ever  offered,  “teach 
me  to  love  thee ; teach  me  to  feel  that  thou  art  my 
Father ; help  me-  to  live  as  thy  child.” 

O can  we  doubt  that  such  prayers  are  answered  1 
The  Father  was  dealing  with  his  wayward  and  wan- 
dering one  in  a way  which  she  understood  not  at 
first.  He  was  teaching  her,  and  that  not  by  the 
rough  loud  tumult  of  w^hirlwind  and  fire,  but  by 
the  still  small  voice  of  parental  love  to  cry,  “ My 
Father,  thou  shalt  be  the  Guide  of  my  youth.” 


34 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


Gaiety  and  worldly  smiles  had  no  attraction  for 
Clara  that  night.  How  can  they,  when  the  heart  is 
filled  with  better  and  nobler  longings  ? Do  not  the 
stars  grow  pale  before  the  light  of  the  rising  sun  ? 
So  must  the  uncertain  flickerings  of  this  world’s 
show  and  glory  fade  quite  away  when  the  love  of 
God  and  his  Son  is  revealed  to  the  mental  gaze. 
She  sat  some  time  reading  the  words  of  her  cousin’s 
letter  over  and  over  again,  and  more  especially  the 
blessed,  precious  words  which  were  not  his. 
Frances  entered  tlie  room  at  last,  gaily  dressed. 

“ Clara  ! not  ready  ? The  carriage  is  at  the  door. 
What,  dearest,  are  you  ill  1”  she  said,  seeing,  as  her 
sister  looked  up,  traces  of  tears  on  her  face. 

“ No,  not  ill,  dear  ; but  I shall  stay  at  home  with 
mamma  to-night.  You  know,”  she  added,  smiling 
rather  sadly,  “ I shall  not  have  many  more  opportuni- 
ties : you  and  Lloyd  will  go  quite  well  without  me.” 
“What  is  it,  dear?”  said  Frances  ; for  with  all 
her  faults  she  was  an  affectionate  girl ; “ I am  cer- 
tain something  has  happened.” 

Clara  put  Leonard’s  letter  into  her  sister’s  hand. 
She  glanced  rapidly  over  the  first  page. 

“ Ah  ! well ; I’ll  read  it  another  time.  He  has 
been  lecturing  you  instead  of  me,  it  appears.  What 
a shame  ! And  you,  like  a dear  foolish  girl,  have 
been  making  your  eyes  red,  and  not  fit  to  be  seen 
— all  about  nothing,  I dare  say.” 

“ Hush  hush  !”  said  Clara,  entreatingly ; “ and 
do  go,  dear  Francie — hark  ! Lloyd  is  calling  you,” 


Ill 

mw  Qomm 


**  Vpt  oft  these  hearts  will  whisper 
That  better  ’twoiild  betide 

If  we  were  near  tlie  friends  we  love, 

And  watching  by  their  side. 

But  sure  thouTt  love  them  dearer,  Lord, 

For  trusting  thee  alone  ! 

And  sure  thou  wilt  draw  nearer,  Lord, 

The  farther  we  are  gone  ! 

Then  why  be  sad  ? since  thou  wilt  keep 
Watch  o'er  them  day  by  day  ; 

Since  thou  wilt  soothe  them  when  they  weep. 

And  hear  us  when  we  pray.” 

Monsell. 


AY  I go  into  the  village  with  you  this  morn* 
ing,  Leonard  asked  Georgina,  as  she  put 
away  the  books  she  had  been  employed 
with  for  some  hours. 

She  always  spent  her  mornings  with  her  brother 
in  the  library.  He  studied,  and  she  studied  too,  he 
often  ceasing  from  his  work  to  direct  hers,  and  she 
at  times  plodding  on  alone  when  he  appeared  so  ab- 
sorbed that  she  thought  it  almost  cruel  to  disturb 


him.  His  afternoons  he  devoted  to  visiting  his 
schools  and  parishioners,  Georgie  often  accompany- 
ing him  to  the  houses  of  the  poorer  ones,  and  help- 
ing in  the  school. 


36 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ Yes,  by  all  means,  dear,” her  brother  answered. 

Do  you  wish  to  go  anywhere  in  particular  ?” 

“ I should  like  to  call  on  Margaret,  and  tell  her 
all  about  it — about  my  intended  visit,  you  know,  I 
mean,”  seeing  her  brother  looked  somewhat  at  a 
loss  to  comprehend  her  allusion. 

“Very  well;  that  will  do  nicely.  I have  to  go 
across  the  common  to  see  old  John  Hilman.  You 
and  Margaret  will  want  a long  talk  no  doubt ; so  I 
can  call  for  you  on  my  return.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Georgina ; “ I will  be  ready 
in  a minute.” 

It  was  a brighter  morning  than  there  had  been 
for  some  days  past ; the  sun  had  succeeded  in  pen- 
etrating through  the  misty  atmosphere,  and  it 
seemed  almost  pleasant  without  doors.  Georgina 
was  in  spirits  at  having  her  brother  once  more  with 
her ; she  had  found  her  every-day  walks  very  dull 
and  uninteresting  without  him  ; and  during  his  ab- 
sence Margaret  had  been  feeble,  and  so  unable  to 
accompany  her. 

She  had  been  obliged  to  content  herself,  for  pro- 
tection’s sake,  with  the  company  of  the  housekeeper, 
Mrs.  Airey,  a stiff  and  rather  unsociable  dame,  with 
whom  Georgina  had  never  as  yet  been  able  to  feel 
quite  at  ease,  partly  owing  to  her  own  natural  re- 
serve, partly  to  the  taciturn  and  somewhat  morose 
temperament  of  the  good  woman  herself. 

They  passed  through  the  garden  shrubbery  at  the 
back  of  the  rectory,  out  into  the  open  road.  A 


NEW  SCENES. 


SI 

slight  turn  brought  them  into  the  principal  street  of 
the  village.  Street,  however,  it  might  scarcely  be 
called;  a long  wide  lane,  with  cottages  here  and 
there  on  either  side,  being  a more  suitable  definition. 
It  must  have  been  a pleasant  spot  in  summer  time  ; 
the  large  spreading  trees,  now  so  bare  and  leafless, 
gave  promise  of  what  a refreshing  sight  they  might 
present  when  clothed  with  verdure,  and  the  little 
garden-plots  in  front  of  nearly  every  house  told 
plainly  that  the  inhabitants  of  Beechwood  were  not 
deficient  in  that  perception  common  alike  to  high 
and  low,  rich  and  poor — the  natural  love  of  flowers. 

The  brother  and  sister  proceeded  a full  quarter 
of  a mile  up  the  straggling  village,  and  there  stopped 
at  the  gate  of  a little  trellisedpleasant-looking  house, 
standing  some  way  back  from  the  road.  Eose  Cot- 
tage it  was  called,  and  doubtless  during  some  sea- 
sons of  the  year  well  merited  its  name,  though  now 
not  a single  leaf  gave  evidence  of  what  might  be. 

They  parted  here.  Georgie  ran  up  the  garden- 
walk  ; and  her  brother  called  after  her,  ‘‘  In  rather 
more  than  an  hour,  Georgie ; my  love  to  Mrs. 
Murray  and  Margaret.” 

The  door  was  opened  before  she  reached  the 
house ; and  in  another  minute  she  found  herself  in 
the  snug  sitting-room  with  Margaret  and  her 
mother. 

Margaret  Murray  had  since  Georgina’s  arrival  in 
Beechwood  been  her  constant  and  only  friend. 
Rather  her  senior  in  age,  and  with  a character  more 

4 


38 


TH^  BROTHER  S WATCHWORD. 


inatiired  and  tried,  she  nevertheless  resembled 
Georgina  in  many  points.  Both  were  naturally 
reserved  and  timid  ; both  had  always  loved  books 
and  study  better  than  amusement ; and,  perhaps 
partly  from  the  very  fact  of  having  seen  so  little  of 
it,  and  partly  from  having,  young  as  they  both  were, 
their  thoughts  and  highest  affections  set  on  objects 
not  of  this  earth’s  giving,  both  had  an  undefinable 
dread  of  entering  into  the  world  ; and  nothing 
seemed  more  desirable  to  either  than  the  prospect 
of  living  on,  in  the  quiet  retirement  of  Beechwood, 
each  with  the  friend  who  was  dearest  to  her  on  earth. 

Mrs.  Murray  had  been  a widow  for  many  years. 
Her  husband,  major  Murray,  had  died  in  India, 
where  also  Margaret  was  born,  who  inherited,  as  is 
so  often  the  case,  the  frail,  delicate  constitution  of 
English  children  born  under  a tropical  sun.  Mar- 
garet’s education  had  been  entirely  carried  on  by 
her  mother,  who  was  a woman  of  remarkable  tal- 
ent and  natural  endowments.  Since  Georgina  had 
come  to  Beechwood,  she  also  had  shared  in  Mrs. 

' Murray’s  kindly  instruction.  Masters  there  were 
none  in  the  neighborhood  ; so  Mr.  Archdale  had 
thankfully  accepted  her  offer  of  helping  his  sister 
in  the  musical  and  drawing  department ; and,  as 
Georgina  inherited  much  of  his  own  natural  ability, 
she  was  a very  satisfactory  pupil ; and  association 
in  their  afternoon  pursuits  strengthened  the  friend- 
ship which  soon  had  formed  between  the  two  young 
girls. 


NEW  SCENES. 


39 


Mrs.  Murray  was  a truly  Christian  woman ; and 
her  first  care  from  the  very  hour  of  her  child’s  birth 
had  been,  not  that  she  should  make  a distinguished 
and  brilliant  figure  in  the  world,  but  that  her  heart 
should  be,  while  young,  given  up  to  God,  and  her 
whole  life  a preparation  for  eternity.  And,  O,  they 
err  who  say  that  parents’  prayers  and  tears  and  ef- 
forts are  unavailing  before  God,  and  that  early  re- 
ligious training  is  futile  and  unsatisfactory  at  best ! 
There  are  indeed  numerous  and  painful  instances  of 
the  children  of  some  of  God’s  most  devoted  ser- 
vants growing  up  to  be  the  sorrow  and  affliction  of 
those  who  gave  them  birth ; but  does  it  not  more 
frequently  result  from  the  lack  of  prayer  and 
watchfulness,  and  judicious  restraint,  rather  than 
from  the  excess  of  it  ? 

Mrs.  Murray  soon  left  the  girls  to  themselves  ; 
and  then  the  younger  disclosed  the  great  piece  of 
intelligence,  which  was  received  with  as  much  sur- 
prise and  regret  by  Margaret  as  it  before  had  been 
by  Georgina.  But  on  talking  it  over  quietly  be- 
tween themselves  the  thing  soon  appeared  some- 
what less  formidable.  “ Such  a short  time — and 
her  brother  to  be  with  her  partly.” 

“ Only  a day  or  two  just  at  first,  dear ; because 
you  know  he  must  come  home  on  the  Saturday ; 
but  he  will  come  and  fetch  me,  and  perhaps  stay  a 
little  longer  then.” 

“We  can  write  to  one  another,”  suggested  Mar- 
garet ; “ I am  fond  of  having  letters.” 


40 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ I never  get  any,”  replied  Georgina.  ‘‘  Yes,  that 
will  be  delightful.  Suppose  you  write  every  day> 
dear ; then  it  will  hardly  seem  like  being  away 
from  you.” 

‘‘  I am  afraid  I shall  not  be  able,  quite  so  often,” 
said  Margaret ; but  I will  try  once  or  twice  a week, 
at  any  rate.” 

‘‘Thank  you;  and,”  said  the  other,  speaking 
rather  low,  and  pressing  the  hand  she  held  more 
tightly,  “ you  know  what  I shall  need  most  of  all, 
dear  Margaret.  Leonard  talked  to  me  last  night 
so  kindly,  so  cheeringly  ; and  he  said  he  would  pray 
for  me.  Will  you  too,  dear 
“Yes,  Georgie,  I always  do.” 

“ But  especially.  O Margaret,  do  you  know, 
after  all,  I have  such  a dread  of  going  to  Leighton  1 
Strange  faces,  strange  ways ; and  it  takes  me  so 
long  to  know  a person.  And  I am  sure  I shall  feel 
so  differently  from  them  all.  I know  I shall  be 
afraid  of  my  uncle  and  my  cousins,  and  of  their 
governess.  She  is  French,  you  know ; and  per- 
haps my  fear  of  them  may  lead  me  to  do  things 
which  are  not  right.” 

Margaret  kissed  her  seriously. 

“ I should  feel  very  much  like  you,  Georgie  dear ; 
and  I don’t  exactly  know  what  to  say  to  help  you, 
except  that  our  fear  of  God  ought  to  be  greater 
than  our  fear  of  any  one  besides.  I don’t  exactly 
mean  fear  either,  but  our  love  to  him,  and  desire 
to  please  him  ; and  I think  wh^n  we  feel  really  anx- 


NEW  SCENES. 


41 


ious  to  serve  him  most  of  all,  he  will  be  sure  to 
help  us.”  And  then  she  added  less  seriously, 
And  I am  sure  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  the 
French  governess.  Mamma  had  one  once ; and 
she  often  tells  me  about  her,  and  how  dearly  she 
loved  her.” 

Just  then  Mr.  Archdale’s  figure  was  seen  ap- 
proaching the  gate. 

“Do  ask  him  to  come  in,”  Margaret  said; 
“ mamma  would  so  like  it.”  But  he  walked  up  the 
little  garden  without  invitation ; and  Georgie  ran  to 
open  the  door  and  call  Mrs,  Murray. 

“ W ell,  Margaret,”  he  said,  walking  up  to  the 
fire  near  which  she  was  standing,  and  taking  both 
her  hands  in  his,  “ you  are  better,  1 hope.” 

“ Yes,  much,  thank  you,”  she  answered.  ^ 

“ And  have  you  been  able  to  work  at  all,  since  I 
have  been  away 

She  caught  his  meaning  instantly,  and  looked  up 
to  him  with  something  of  the  love,  though  with 
more  of  reverence,  than  Georgie  would  have  shown. 

“ Not  much,  I am  afraid,  Mr.  Archdale.  I 
seem  to  have  had  so  few  opportunities.” 

“Not  very  manifest  ones,  perhaps,  but  still 
always  some  opportunities.  ^ The  trivial  round, 
the  common  task’ — you  know  the  rest.” 

“ O yes ; and  those  little  daily  trials  and  self- 
denyings  are  sometimes  the  most  difficult,  do  you 
not  think  ?”  she  said,  timidly.  “ At  least  it  is 
where  I fail  so  very,  very  often.” 

4^ 


42 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ Indeed  I do,  Margaret ; and  yet,  when  the  walk 
IS  quite  close  with  God,  even  they  are  easy.” 

Mrs.  Murray  came  in  just  then  with  Georgina, 
and  greeted  Leonard  kindly,  telling  him  that  for 
^en  those  few  days  they  had  missed  him,  and 
were  thankful  to  welcome  his  face  again. 

‘‘  I just  looked  in,”  he  said,  ‘^to  give  you  another 
pensioner,  that  is,  if  you  are  at  liberty  to  take  one. 
Poor  old  Hilman,  across  the  common : he  is  very 
ailing,  nearly  blind,  an?f  no  one  at  all  to  look  after 
him.  His  daughter-in-law,  who  lives  in  our  village, 
goes  over  every-day  for  an  hour  or  two  ; but  for 
all  besides  he  is  dependent  on  strangers.  He  is  a 
good  man,  and  would  feel  most  thankful  if  you  or 
Margaret  would  sometimes  go  and  read  with  him 
for  half an-hour.  I think  you  would  soon  feel  in- 
terested in  him  ; and  perhaps  you  would  kindly 
see  to  his  being  supplied  with  soup,  or  anything 
else  necessary,  and  let  me  know.” 

“I  will,”  Mrs.  Murray  answered,  ‘‘and  thank 
you  for  mentioning  him.  How  did  you  leave  all 
your  friends,  Mr.  Archdale  ? sir  William  and  lady 
Archdale  ?” 

“ My  aunt  is  much  the  same  as  when  I last  saw 
her,  quite  the  invalid,  and  confined  to  her  own 
rooms,  except  on  very  rare  occasions  wLen  she 
takes  a short  drive,  cushioned  up  in  the  carriage : 
she  ig  just  the  same  as  ever — very  sweet  and 
gentle.” 

“ Ah  ! I should  scarcely  know  her  now,”  said 


NEW  SCENES. 


43 


Mrs.  Murray : “ it  is  so  many  years  since  we 
met ; but  have  they  not  now  living  with  them  a 
son  of  captain  Lockyer,  her  brother-in-law 

“ They  have,”  said  Leonard. 

“ And  what  sort  of  a youth  is  he  ? I knew  his 
dear  mamma  so  well,  much  more  intimately  than 
lady  Archdale,  and  a sweeter,  more  beautiful  crea- 
ture I never  saw.  Is  he  like  her 

Leonard  shook  his  head  gravely.  I did  not  see 
much  of  him,  but  fear  froni  what  sir  William  says 
that  he  is  anything  but  what  he  should  be,  and  that 
they  may  have  trouble  with  him.  ’ He  appears  to 
associate  very  little  with  the  rest  of  the  family ; 
and  there  is  a kind  of  sullen  indifference  about  him, 
even  in  the  little  that  I observed,  which  is  very 
unpleasing.” 

‘‘  What  profession  is  he  to  follow  ?”  she  inquired. 
“ He  must  be  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  old  now, 
I should  think 

“ I don’t  know,”  Leonard  replied  seriously  : “ with 
such  a disposition  as  his,  it  seems  difficult  to  know 
exactly  what  to  decide  on.  I did  not  like  to  say 
much : I fancy  there  is  an  uncomfortable  feeling  on 
both  sides ; still,  I feel  for  the  boy.” 

“ Poor  fellow !”  said  Mrs.  Murray.  “ I shall 
always  feel  an  interest  in  him  for  his  mother’s  sake. 
Is  he  dark  ? His  father  was  such  a tall  handsome 
man.” 

“ Yes,  very  dark,  gloomy-looking,  repulsive,  I 
might  almost  say,  in  his  manner,  but  fine  features. 


44 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


However,  as  I said  before,  I scarcely  saw  him  ex- 
cept just  at  meals.  I should  have  liked  a little 
talk  with  him  ; but  my  time  was  so  very  limited  : 
Georgina  will  tell  us  more  particulars  of  all  when 
she  returns.  I have  promised  her  to  them  for  a 
few  weeks  after  her  cousin’s  wedding.” 

Have  you  indeed'?”  said  Mrs.  Murray.  ‘‘  Well, 
I hope  the  visit  may  be  a pleasant  one  in  every 
respect.” 

“ I am  afraid  we  neither  of  us  anticipate  it  as 
such,”  said  her  brother ; I cannot  bear  parting 
with  her ; and  she  feels  it  a great  trouble  to  go. 
But  I trust  it  will  be  for  the  best.  Are  you  ready, 
dear '?”  he  continued,  turning  to  his  sister,  who  was 
looking  at  a new  drawing  with  Margaret. 

‘‘  Yes,  whenever  you  are,”  she  answered.  Mar- 
garet is  coming  to  us  to-morrow,  if  she  is  better, 
for  the  day.” 

That  is  w^ell,”  replied  Leonard,  and  they  took 
leave. 

Georgie’s  last  day  at  Beechwood  came  only  too 
soon.  Margaret  and  her  mamma  spent  the  even- 
ing before  at  the  rectory.  Had  it  been  a parting 
for  many  years,  it  could  scarcely  have  been  con- 
templated more  sorrowfully.  The  girls  sat  to- 
gether on  a low  seat  near  the  fire,  Margaret’s  arm 
passed  round  her  friend,  and  her  thoughtful  eyes 
gazing  down  upon  her,  full  of  love  and  affection. 
Leonard  stood  at  the  other ' side  of  the  fire,  his 
elbow  resting  on  the  chimney-piece,  his  eyes  turned 


NEW  SCENES. 


45 


on  the  same  object  as  were  Margaret’s.  Painful 
thoughts  were  in  his  heart : none  could  look  on  his 
countenance  or  attitude  and  doubt  it. 

Mrs.  Murray  was  seated  near.  Her  eyes  wan- 
dered from  one  to  the  other  of  the  little  group, 
and  then  rested  on  the  fire,  but  her  face  was  not 
sad.  She  rose  at  last,  and,  going  to  the  organ, 
commenced  a touching  little  air  which  was  familiar 
to  them  all : 

“ Saviour  and  Lord  of  all, 

We  lift  our  hearts  to  thee ; 

Guide  us  and  guard  us 

Where’er  we  be. 

When  we  are  full  of  grief, 

Victims  of  anxious  fear, 

Save  us,  0 save  us  ! 

Jesus,  be  near ! 

Brighten  the  darkest  hour. 

Till  our  last  hour  be  come ; 

Then,  in  thy  power, 

0 take  us  home.” 

Sh'e  accompanied  the  music  with  her  soft  clear 
voice ; and  the  spell  of  sadness  and  dejection 
seemed  instantly  broken.  One  by  one,  Mr.  Arch- 
dale first,  then  Margaret,  and  then  Georgina  her- 
self, all  joined  in,  till  the  walls  of  the  room  seemed 
to  re-echo  the  sweet  strains  of  that  parting  melody. 
When  it  was  ended,  Georgie  rang  the  bell,  and 
the  servants  assembled  for  the  accustomed  evening 
worship.  The  final  parting  afterwards  was  not  so 


46 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


sad  and  tearful  as  the  former  part  of  the  evening 
had  promised ; and,  as  Leonard  shook  hands  with 
Mrs.  Murray,  he  said,  “ Thank  you.  You  have 
given  me  another  lesson  to-night.  I am  ashamed 
of  my  despondency  and  distrust.  The  future 
seems  hallowed  now  ; or  at  least  my  dread  of  it  is 
gone.” 

It  was  quite  evening  ere  the  travellers  reached 
Leighton  Hall.  The  carriage  had  been  sent  for 
them  to  the  railway-station  at  Barnes,  from  which 
place  sir  William  Archdale’s  country-seat  was 
about  three  miles  distant. 

Georgie’s  heart  beat  more  quickly  as  they  stop- 
ped at  the  first  lodge,  and  then  proceeded  rapidly 
np  the  broad  drive  leading  through  the  park. 

“We  could  see  the  house  now,  if  it  were  light,” 
remarked  Leonard  presently.  He  lowered  one 
window  for  a moment ; and  Georgie  stretched  out 
her  head  into  the  frosty  air,  and  could  just  distin- 
guish an  ill-defined  black  square  of  building,  with 
lights  gleaming  here  and  there.  ^ 

It  must  have  appeared  formidable  to  her ; for 
she  speedily  drew  in  her  head,  leaned  back  again 
in  the  carriage  by  Leonard’s  side,  and  sighed  hea- 
vily. 

“ What  makes  this  strange  oppression  at  my 
heart  ?”  she  murmured.  “ Dear  Leonard,  can  it 
be  all  timidity 

“ Perhaps  not,”  he  answered  musingly ; for  he 
felt  the  oppression  too.  His  tone  was  too  ab- 


NEW  SCENES. 


47 


stractcd  for  her  to  say  more ; and,  after  a few 
minutes  of  perfect  silence  on  both  sides,  the  car- 
riage stopped. 

The  hall-door  was  quickly  opened ; and  servants 
appeared  on  the  steps  with  lights,  and  assisted  the 
travellers  to  dismount. 

Tired  and  Aveary  with  the  long  journey,  an  un- 
usual thing  for  her,  Georgie,  who  shielded  herself 
by  her  brother’s  side,  took  not  much  heed  of  the 
objects  around  her.  The  spacious  hall,  -with  its 
surrounding  gallery,  hung  with  massively-framed 
pictures ; the  wide  marble  staircase ; the  statues, 
holding  in  their  hands  elegant  lamps,  from  which 
jets  of  gas-light  brightly  issued — all  seemed  to 
pass  unnoticed  before  her  eyes  ; and  she  awoke 
first  to  a sense  of  the  reality  of  her  position  on 
finding  herself  in  a large  and  richly-furnished  apart- 
ment. Sounds  of  music,  singing,  and  conversation, 
mingled  with  peals  of  laughter,  broke  upon  her  ear 
as  the  door  opened,  but  ceased  when  the  company 
within  became  aware  of  her  own  and  'her  brother’s 
presence. 

“ Come  at  last,”  exclaimed  several  voices  almost 
simultaneously ; and  the  next  moment  Georgina 
felt  herself  seized  upon  by  one  or  two  soft  pairs  of 
hands,  parted  from  her  brother’s  sheltering  arm,  to 
which  her  own  clung  almost  nervously,  and  con- 
veyed to  the  upper  part  of  the  room,  where  a large 
fire  was  blazing,  around  which  a group  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  were  assembled. 


48 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


What  an  ordeal  for  the  poor,  timid,  bashful 
Georgie ! There  she  stood,  very  pale,  before  that 
great  blaze  of  gas  and  firelight,  the  little  purple- 
velvet  bonnet  pushed  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
locks  of  fair  hair  straying  down,  one  hand  still 
held  between  those  of  a tall  and  dignified  gentle- 
man, who  she  is  informed  is  her  uncle,  the  other 
nervously  engaged  in  unfastening  the  buttons  of 
her  fur-trimmed  jacket,  the  heat  of  which  is 
becoming  oppressive  in  that  warm  light  room. 

Who  might  be  relations,  and  who  strangers,  she 
is  as  yet  perfectly  unaware ; but  the  next  minute 
Leonard  comes  to  her  relief,  saying,  cheerfully, 
“Now  before  Georgie  is  further  bewildered,  we 
must  give  her  some  formal  introductions.  This, 
dear,  is  your  cousin  Clara.” 

A very  lovely  form  wdiich  had  been  the  first  to 
rise  and  w^elcome  Leonard,  and  now  walked  with 
him  towards  the  fire,  bent  down  to  the  low  couch 
where  sir  William  had  seated  Georgina,  and  kissed 
her  fondly.  • But  she  did  not  speak ; and  no  one 
but  Leonard  and  one  other  remarked  that  a tear 
trembled  in  her  beautiful  dark  eye,  as  she  turned 
away  and  quietly  glided  from  the  room. 

Then  Frances — as  beautiful  and  more  so  than 
Clara,  roses  entwined  in  her  hair,  and  a complexion 
as  fresh  and  fair  as  they — she,  too,  kissed  her  cousin 
affectionately,  and  then  introduced  her  brother  that 
was  to  be,  Arthur  Isbel,  a pale  thoughtful  looking 


NEW  SCENES. 


49 


man,  with  a wide  intellectual  forehead,  and  pleasant 
smile  hovering  about  his  lips. 

“ And  here  is  Augusta,  your  friend  that  is  to  be,” 
said  sir  William,  as  a tall  and  fashionable  girl  of 
about  fifteen,  very  handsome,  but  with  no  small  de- 
gree of  would-be  condescension  in  her  tone  and 
manner,  came  forward,  and  placed  her  blooming 
cheek  for  a moment  by  the  side  of  Georgie’s  pale 
one. 

“ My  friend  !”  whispered  Georgie’s  heart,  uncon- 
sciously, and  a vision  of  Margaret,  gentle,  lovely, 
retiring,  passed  before  her  mind  and  for  a while  so 
occupied  it,  that  the  names  of  half-a-dozen  strangers 
who  were  staying  at  Leighton  in  anticipation  of  the 
wedding  fell  unheeded  on  her  ear,  as  they  were  in- 
troduced one  by  one,  by  her  uncle  or  Frances. 

But  who  was  that  tall,  haughty  young  man,  with 
the  proud  soldier-bearing,  and  scornful  upper  lip, 
who  lounges  at  the  farther  side  of  the  fire-place, 
eyeing  the  little  girl  so  deliberately,  as  she  sits  calm 
and  still  outwardly,  but  with  a flutterir^'  heart,  re- 
ceiving her  first  cold  dreaded  lesson  of  the  v/orld  ? 
That  is  her  cousin  Lloyd : and  at  a murmured 
“ Really,  Lloyd,  it  is  quite  rude,”  from  his  sister 
Frances,  he  makes  the  effort  of  crossing  the  room, 
and  extending  a very  white  hand,  with  a very  spark- 
ling diamond  on  the  little  finger  thereof,  to  his  young 
cousin,  informing  her  at  the  same  time,  in  a few 
words,  wdiether  mockingly  or  in  earnest  she  could 
not  possibly  tell,  that  he  was  charmed  with  this  op- 
5 


50 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


portunity  of  making  her  acquaintance,  and  trusted 
at  the  same  time  that  the  feeling  was  reciprocal. 

Something  in  his  tone  or  manner,  however, 
seemed  to  disturb  Georgina’s  equilibrium.  She 
made  a nervous  effort  to  reply,  which  only  brought 
a tinge  of  color  to  her  face,  as  she  fancied  she  re- 
marked her  cousin’s  lips  curl  yet  more  with  but 
half  suppressed  amusement  or  disdain.  Then,  giv- 
ing her  another  deliberate  and  most  comprehensive 
glance  from  head  to  foot,  he  turned  away  to  the 
piano  where  Miss  Elmore  was  resuming  the 
song  which  the  entrance  of  the  cousins  had  inter- 
rupted. 

At  the  same  moment  Clara  reappeared,  and  in- 
vited Georgina  to  come  up  stairs  to  her  aunt’s  bou- 
doir, there  to  be  introduced  to  lady  Archdale,  and 
partake  of  some  refreshment  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  her. 

“ And  perhaps,  dear,”  she  added,  “ you  may  like 
to  say  good-night  to  Leonard,  as  you  are  looking 
quite  fatigued  from  your  journey ; and  mamma 
thinks  you  had  better  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble.” 

Georgie  obeyed  instinctively;  and,  kissing  her 
brother,  she  proceeded  to  wish  good  night  to  such 
of  her  new  friends  as  were  near,  receiving  from  sir 
William  a very  hearty  embrace  as  he  told  her 
good-humoredly  he  should  expect  those  pale  cheeks 
to  look  very  differently  in  the  course  of  a few  days. 
She  then  followed  her  cousin  out  of  the  room. 


NEW  SCENES. 


51 


Half  way  along  the  gallery  they  were  met  by  a 
dark  and  gloomy  looking  youth  with  his  hat  on,  and 
a plaid  flung  across  his  shoulders. 

‘‘Walter,”  exclaimed  Clara,  “where  are  you 
going?” 

“ No  concern  of  yours,”  he  replied,  as  he  pushed 
past. 

“Stop  a moment,  Walter,”  his  cousin  added,  at 
the  sanae  time  seizing  the  end  of  his  shawl.  “ Here 
is  Georgina  Archdale ; she  will  like  to  speak  to 
you ; and  Leonard  is  in  the  drawing-room  ; they 
are  just  come.” 

Had  he  not  been  thus  forcibly  detained,  it  was 
evident  that  Walter  would  have  paid  no  attention 
to  his  cousin’s  words.  As  it  was,  he  just  stopped  a 
moment,  glanced  at  Georgina,  made  a cold  con- 
strained bow,  without  noticing  the  hand  which  was 
half  extended  towards  him  ; and  murmuring  “ How 
do  you  do  ?”  in  an  unintelligible  tone,  he  uncere- 
moniously pulled  his  plaid,  the  fringe  of  which 
Clara  still  held,  from  between  her  fingers,  and  hur- 
ried on. 

“Is  that  Walter*?”  asked  Georgie  in  a tone  of 
compassion. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Clara,  with  a low  remorseful  sigh. 
Poor  Clara  ! Among  other  long  neglected  duties 
which  for  the  past  few  weeks  she  had  been  earnestly 
striving  to  perform  was  that  of  showing  kindness  to 
Walter.  But  it  was  too  late.  Walter  had  become 
hardened  and  indifferent,  and  repelled  with  bitter- 

^ UK  i 


52 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


ness  now  any  slight  attention  and  kindness  which  at 
his  first  coming  he  might  have  welcomed. 

And  Clara  mourned  inwardly  ; for  she  knew  that 
she  was  only  reaping  the  fruits  of  that  which  she 
herself  had  sown. 

Lady  Archdale  received  her  niece  with  the  ut- 
most kindness ; and  Georgie  fancied  that  in  that 
quiet  room,  with  her  gentle,  loving,  invalid  aunt  for 
a companion,  she  should  feel  more  at  home  than  in 
the  show  and  excitement  of  busier  life  below.  And 
so  in  after  days  she  found  it. 

The  next  day  but  one  was  the  wedding.  Geor- 
gina could  never  exactly  tell  how  she  passed  through 
it.  The  long,  tedious  dressing,  the  drive  to  church 
with  Augusta  and  two  gentlemen  strangers,  who 
were  talking  nonsense  the  whole  time,  the  solemn 
service,  rendered  yet  more  solemn  by  Leonard’s 
earnest  serious  words  and  deportment,  the  com- 
pany, the  breakfast,  the  parting  with  Clara,  which 
seemed  to  her  so  sad  and  mournful,  but  which 
scarcely  disturbed  the  gaiety  and  mirth  going  on 
around — all  seemed  more  like  a troubled  unreal 
dream,  than  a true  life  scene  in  which  she  herself 
was  acting,  so  little  accustomed  was  she  as  yet  to 
the  ways  and  manners  of  the  world. 

Leonard  left  not  long  after  the  departure  of  the 
bride  and  bridegroom,  but  not  before  Clara,  in  a 
few  earnest  thankful  words,  had  told  him  that  his 
faithful  warning-  had  not  been  unheeded  ; that  new 
thoughts  and  feelings,  to  which  before  she  had  been 


NEW  SCENES. 


53 


a stranger,  had  arisen  within  her  heart ; that  she 
trusted  she  could  now  call  God  her  Father,  and  feel 
now  towards  him  as  a very  erring  and  wandering 
indeed,  but  yet  a loving  child,  and  that  in  these 
feelings  Arthur  fully  participated.  She  had  shown 
him  Leonard’s  letter  ; and  the  light  that  had  dawned 
so  suddenly  on  her  had  been  breaking  slowly,  but 
surely,  on  his  heart  too.  “ And  we  both  desire 
your  prayers,  dear  Leonard,”  Clara  added,  “ that 
we  may  be  enabled  to  live  for  God  now.^  though  so 
much  of  our  past  lives  has  been  given  up  to  the 
foolish  empty  pleasures  of  the  world.” 

Leonard’s  heart  thrilled  gratefully  within  him. 
He  had  marked  a change  in  his  cousin  from  the 
first  moment  of  his  arrival.  He  could  not  doubt 
the  reality  of  the  work  ; and,  with  Clara’s  words 
yet  fresh  upon  his  ear,  he  was  able  to  say  farewell 
to  his  sister,  and  leave  her  there  in  that  whirl  of 
dissipation  and  gaiety  with  calmness,  and  an  as- 
sured trust  that  she  would  be  “ kept  by  the  mighty 
power  of  God.”  Georgie,  too,  bore  up  most  hero- 
ically. 

The  amusements  at  Leighton  were  terminated  by 
a splendid  ball,  to  which  all  the  gentry  and  aristoc- 
racy for  miles  round  were  invited.  At  this,  of 
course,  Georgie  declined  being  present ; and  all  she 
knew  of  the  night’s  proceedings  was  the  meeting 
her  cousin  Lloyd  in  full  uniform,  as,  after  saying 
Good  night”  to  lady  Archdale,  she  was  'proceed- 
ing to  her  own  room,  and  receiving  from  him  what 


54 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


appeared  to  her  a look  of  most  superlative  pity. 
Then,  half  an  hour  later,  a vision  of  two  very  beau- 
tiful beings  in  rustling  white  silks,  and  wreaths  of 
roses  and  lilies  in  their  hair  and  dresses,  “just  come 
in,”  as  they  gaily  remarked,  “ to  show  themselves.” 
They  had  never  thought  of  those  solemn  words, 
“She  that  liveth  in  pleasure,”  not  in  sin,  or  sloth, 
or  deceit ; but  “ she  that  liveth  in  pleasure  is — dead 
while  she  liveth.”  Georgie  knew  them  well,  and 
had  often  pondered  them  ; and  now  she  murmured 
a prayer  for  her  beautiful  thoughtless  cousins,  ere 
she  turned  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  slept 
peacefully. 


IV. 

SYMPj&THY, 


**  Sow  with  a generous  hand, 

Pause  not  for  toil  and  pain  ; 

Weary  not  through  the  heat  of  summer, 

Weary  not  through  the  cold  spring  rain  ; 

But  wait  till  the  autumn  comes 
For  the  sheaves  of  golden  grain/’ 

fHE  days  after  her  brother’s  departure  passed 
rather  wearisomely  to  Georgina.  There  was 
so  little  congeniality  between  her  cousins  and 
the  young  people  who  remained  with  them  a time 
after  the  wedding,  and  herself.  Their  way  of  spend- 
ing their  time  was  so  totally  different  from  any- 
thing she  had  been  accustomed  to  : this,  added  to 
her  own  natural  diffidence  and  reserve,  made  her, 
at  the  end  of  the  first  ten  days,  as  far  from  feeling 
at  home  at  Leighton  as  on  the  first  evening  of  her 
arrival. 

There  was,  as  she  anticipated,  a great  deal  of 
gaiety  and  company  just  at  the  time : parties  at 
home  or  abroad  almost  every  evening,  and  a great 
part  of  every  day  occupied  in  preparations,  or  in 
talk  over  what  had  happened  on  the  preceding  one. 
Not,  however,  that  Georgina  mingled  in  any  of 
these  pursuits:  it  being  an  understood  thing  that 


56 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


she  was  delicate  and  unfit  for  much  excitement, 
and  verj  evident  also  that  she  had  no  taste  that 
way,  she  was  left  just  to  follow  her  own  inclina- 
tions ; and  these  led  her  to  spend  her  time  partly 
alone,  partly  in  the  nursery  with  her  younger 
cousins,  whom  she  found  more  pleasant  companions 
than  the  elder  ones,  and  partly  with  her  gentle  in- 
valid aunt,  who  always  welcomed  her  to  her  room. 
Every  morning,  after  the  first  few  days,  during 
which  she  had  not  been  well  enough  to  bear  it, 
Georgie  sat  an  hour  or  two  with  her,  reading  her 
the  psalms  and  lessons  for  the  day,  and  talking  to 
her  about  her  brother  and  home.  Lady  Archdale 
at  length  seemed  quite  to  cling  to  her  little  niece : 
her  quiet  gentle  manners  suited  her ; and,  never 
having  received  much  show  of  affection  from  her 
own  children,  she  welcomed  it  the  more  in  Georgie. 

Mademoiselle  Victoire  was  gone  home  for  the 
holidays ; so  that  Augusta  had  more  liberty  than 
usual,  went  out  whenever  she  was  allowed  to  go, 
and  at  home-parties  presented  herself  in  the  draw- 
ing-room at  as  early  an  hour  as  possible.  Here 
Georgina  also  came  when  she  could  find  no  pre- 
text for  absenting  herself ; but  she  did  not  excite 
much  notice  on  such  occasions:  she  sat  in  some 
quiet  nook  by  herself  at  her  work-frame ; aijd,  as 
soon  as  coffee  had  been  handed  round,  and  her 
usual  hour  for  retiring  came,  she  slipped  away, 
very  often  unnoticed. 

True,  on  one  or  two  occasions  she  had  felt  anxi- 


SYMPATHY. 


57 


ous  to  break  through  her  great  natural  timidity, 
and,  unsolicited,  endeavor  to  win  the  regard  of 
one  whom  no  one  else  appeared  to  trouble  himself 
about ; and  this  was  when  Walter,  who,  like  her- 
self, though  from  different  motives,  seemed  to 
think  it  a necessity  to  appear  at  times  among  his 
uncle’s  family,  formed  one  of  the  party.  It  made 
her  loving  heart  feel  sorry  to  see  him  aloof  from 
the  rest  when  all  appeared  so  gay  and  cheerful. 
She  saw  plainly  that  it  was  not  that  he  could  not 
have  enjoyed  himself ; for,  though  he  sat  gloomily 
apart  with  a book  with  which  he  was  supposed  to 
be  occupied  before  him,  her  quick  observation  told 
her  that  was  not  the  case.  At  times,  when  any- 
thing in  the  conversation  struck  him,  or  a more 
thrilling  tone  of  music  broke  upon  his  ear,  the 
large  proud  restless  eyes  would  be  raised  suddenly, 
and  a vehement  glance  thrown  upon  the  speaker  or 
performer,  but  only  for  a moment : before  he 
thought  it  possible  that  it  could  be  noticed,  they 
were  bent  again ; but  Georgie  could  see  how  the 
brow  seemed  to  contract,  and  the  lips  press  closer 
together,  and  how  very  often,  for  an  hour  after,  no 
page  of  the  book  was  turned.  She  saw  that  he 
was  unhappy,  that  no  one  appeared  to  notice  it, 
and  that  all  spoke  of  and  to  him  carelessly  and  un- 
kindly ; but  she  saw  also,  and  that  but  too  plainly, 
how  little  effort  he  made  to  gain  their  regard — 
how,  shutting  himself  up  in  a barrier  of  contemp- 
tuous pride  and  ill  humor,  he  only  made  the 


58 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


breach  between  himself  and  those  around  him  grow 
wider  from  day  to  day.  Perhaps  it  was  a sort  of 
fellow-feeling  that  made  her  take  so  much  interest 
in  Walter  and  his  proceedings  as  she  found  herself 
doing.  Certainly  there  was  nothing  in  his  behavior 
to  her  to  attract : she  saw  but  little  of  him,  though 
he  was  at  home  for  the  holidays ; and,  when  she 
did  speak  to  him,  or,  as  she  had  ventured  to  do  on 
one  or  two  occasions,  show  him  little  attentions 
which  she  thought  might  please,  she  met  with  such 
ungracious  rebuffs  that  she  felt  quite  afraid  to  re- 
peat them.  Their  position  in  the  family  too  was 
by  no  means  alike.  Every  one  treated  her  with 
kindness  and  consideration,  and  it  was  simply  be- 
cause they  thought  it  more  pleasant  to  her  feelings 
that  she  was  allowed  to  keep  so  much  in  the  back- 
ground. Her  quiet  nook  was  often  approached 
during  the  evening  by  one  and  another  : her  uncle, 
with  whom  she  was  already  a favorite,  would 
pinch  her  pale  cheeks,  and  ask  her  when  the  roses 
were  coming  ; Frances  and  her  young  friends  would 
patronizingly  admire  her  work,  or  invite  her  to 
share  in  some  game  or  dance ; and  even  the  tall 
moustached  cousin,  who  still  continued  to  inspire  her 
with  as  much  awe  as  at  first,  would  occasionally 
approach,  look  down  upon  her  from  his  military 
stateliness  for  a minute  or  two,  make  some  compli- 
ment which  Georgie  thought  had  very  little  mean- 
ing in  it,  and  then  withdraw,  leaving  the  little  pale 
face  very  much  tinged  with  color. 


SYMPATHY. 


59 


So  Georgie  felt  that  in  many  things  she  could 
not  sympathize  with  Walter,  even  were  he  dis- 
posed to  allow  her ; but  still  in  some  points  they 
were  alike.  He  was  an  orphan ; and  so  was  she. 
He,  in  all  that  large  family  seemed  to  have  no  real 
friend  ; nor  had  she.  He,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
appeared  to  have  no  taste  or  inclination  for  the 
gaiety  and  amusements  which  were  constantly 
going  on  around  him  ; and  this  also  was  the  case 
with  her.  And  she  often  did  feel  how  pleased  and 
thankful  she  should  be,  if  in  any  way  it  were  pos- 
sible for  her  to  gladden  Walter’s  life.  She  had  too 
humble  an  opinion  of  herself  to  imagine  she  could 
do  much  : she  was  not  old  enough  or  clever  enough 
to  be  his  friend;  and  yet,  if  he  would  let  her,  she 
could  love  him  and  be  kind  to  him  ; and,  were  she 
in  his  place,  she  knew  that  even  a kind  word  would 
be  cheering  to  her ; but  he  was  so  determinately 
cold  and  indifferent,  that  she  felt  it  most  difficult  to 
know  how  to  begin. 

One  thing,  however,  Georgie  did — she  prayed 
for  Walter.  One  who  seemed  so  unhappy,  so  al- 
most mysteriously  unsociable,  so  shut  out  from  all 
sympathy  and  affection  as  he,  and  one  who  she 
greatly  feared  never  prayed  for  himself — surely  he 
needed  the  prayei*s  of  others ; and  so,  night  after 
night,  when  she  had  retired  to  her  room,  and  morn- 
ing after  morning  as  she  rose  from  sleep,  before 
entering  on  the  duties  of  a fresh  day,  she  joined  to 
her  other  petitions  at  the  throne  of  heavenly  love 


60 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


and  mercy  a very  earnest  prayer  for  Walter,  and 
that,  if  it  pleased  Mhr  heavenly  Father,  she  migfit 
be  made,  before  she  left  that  roof,  the  means,  in 
some  way  or  other,  of  comforting  and  gladdening 
his  cheerless  shadowed  life.  And  often,  as  she 
prayed,  a peaceful  happy  assurance  that  her  prayer 
was  heard,  and  would  in  due  time  be  answered, 
came  into  her  soul ; and  at  such  times  she  could 
not  but  give  thanks  that,  when  cut  off  from  every 
other  source,  the  blessed  privilege  of  prayer  still 
remains. 

Day  after  day  passed  on,  and  Georgie  found  her- 
self no  nearer  the  attainment  of  her  object  than  at 
first,  in  fact  rather  farther  from  it.  With  the  other 
members  of  the  family  she  was  gradually  becoming 
a little  more  familiar;  but  Walter  still  remained 
so  coldly  inaccessible,  that  she  almost  began  to  fear 
her  month’s  visit  would  pass,  and  her  desire  re- 
main unsatisfied. 

One  evening — how  well  she  remembered  it  for 
long  after  ! — she  came  down  into  the  drawdng-room 
as  usual : there  was  a large  party  that  night ; and 
the  ladies  were  not  yet  come  in  from  the  dining- 
room. The  lamps  were  lighted,  and  showed  her 
that  the  only  occupant  of  the  room  as  she  entered 
was  her  cousin  Walter.  He  was  seated  in  his 
usual  attitude  at  a distant  table,  and  looking  more 
miserably  depressed  than  she  had  ever  before  ob- 
served him.  “Perhaps  this  may  be  my  time,” 
she  thought  to  herself ; and,  summoning  up  all  her 


SYMPATHY. 


61 


little  courage,  and  glancing  a thought  of  prayer  to 
her  Father  in  heaven,  she  went  up  to  where  Walter 
was  sitting.  The  step  was  so  light  that  he  might 
not  have  heard  her  approach  ; for  he  took  no  notice, 
not  so  much  as  raising  his  eyes  from  his  book. 
She  laid  one  little  white  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
said  in  a timid  half  supplicatory  tone,  “ Dear  Wal- 
ter, are  you  unhappy 

0 how  witheringly  to  all  her  hopes  did  the  an- 
swer come ! 

“ And  supposing  I am,  is  that  any  business  of 
yours?  Will  no  one  leave  me  to  myself?”  And 
as  he  spoke,  the  little  hand  was  roughly  shaken  off 
from  his  shoulder.  The  look  that  accompanied  the 
words  seemed  to  rivet  the  child  to  the  spot  where 
she  was  standing ; it  took  from  her  the  power  of 
speech,  and,  for  some  moments,  of  action  as  well ; 
and  it  was  a strange  sight  to  see  those  twm — she  in 
her  pure  white  dress,  with  a face  in  which  fear,  com- 
passion, and  entreaty  were  strangely  blended,  look- 
ing down  on  him  who  in  all  the  pride  and  bitterness 
of  his  passion  yet  could  hardly  meet  the  touching 
guilelessness  of  her  glance ; nevertheless  for  one 
moment  their  eyes  met;  and  then  all  Georgie’s 
courage  gave  w^ay ; she  felt  the  hot  tears  rush  to 
her  eyelids,  and  pressing  the  hand  which  had  been 
so  rudely  repulsed  before  them,  to  hide  them  from 
him,  she  glided  from  the  room.  What  a night  of 
bitter  mortification  and  self-reproach  was  that  to* 
Walter  ! He  retired  to  his  chamber  wdien  the 
6 


62 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


cheerless  evening  was  over,  but  not  to  rest.  That 
soft  gentle  touch  upon  his  arm,  how  like  his  mo- 
ther’s ! and  yet  he  had  repelled  it.  That  kind,  I0V7 
ing,  earnest  glance,  how  exactly  corresponding  to 
many  he  had  been  used  to  receive  from  that  almost 
idolized  parent,  who  had  been  taken  fronr-him  ! and 
yet  he  had  scorned  it.  Those  few  timid  words, 
which  told  in  every  tone  that  they  were  prompted 
only  by  love  and  interest;  and  he  had  answered 
them  cruelly,  insultingly.  What  would  he  not 
have  given  to  have  been  able  to  call  back  those  few 
short  minutes,  or  to  have  blotted  them  from  his 
memory  altogether.  But  this  was  impossible  ; and 
now  it  was  too  late  ; her  esteem  and  love  and  sym- 
pathy w^ere  gone  for  ever  ; he  could  not  doubt  it. 
She  must  be  more  than  mortal,  he  thought,  as  he 
tossed  restlessly  on  his  bed  that  night,  if  she  could 
ever  forgive  his  cruel  unkindness,  much  less  ever 
address  him  in  words  of  gentleness  again.  He  slept 
at  last,  and  dreamed  that  a guardian  angel  with 
white  and  glittering  wings  was  hovering  around 
him,  and  that  that  angel  had  his  mother’s  face  and 
mother’s  smile,  and  that  he  was  rejoicing  in  its  pres- 
ence, and  then  awoke  to  the  bitter  recollection  that 
the  one  who  might  perchance  have  been  to  him 
something  of  a personification  of  that  watching 
guardian  spirit  he  had  repulsed  and  driven  from 
him  at  the  very  time  he  most  needed  her  aid. 

Georgie  said  meekly,  as  she  knelt  in  prayer  that 
night  before  retiring  to  rest,  “ Lord,  if  it  be  not 


SYMPATHY. 


63 


thy  will  that  I should  he  the  means  of  comfort  or 
blessing  to  my  poor  cousin,  grant  that  I may  be 
content ; but,  dear  Lord,  I pray  thee  give  the  bless- 
ing by  some  other  means  if  not  by  me,  and  O lead 
him  to  thee.”  And  then  she  went  to  her  rest,  and 
slept  peacefully. 

She  knew  not  then,  dear  child — and  had  she 
known,  her  course  of  action  would  not  have  been 
otherwise — how  very  far  from  the  kingdom,  hu- 
manly speaking,  her  cousin  was.  But  she  prayed 
and  trusted  as  though  he  had  been  very  nigh ; and 
in  her  own  soul,  at  least,  she  felt  the  blessedness  of 
quietly  believing. 

The  whole  of  the  following  day  she  saw  nothing 
of  Walter.  In  the  evening  all  the  elder  members 
of  the  family,  and  Augusta  with  them,  went  to  a 
concert  in  Barnes ; and  Georgie,  after  seeing  them 
all  off,  returned  to  the  library,  and  went  on  with  a 
letter  which  she  was  writing  to  Margaret.  She  was 
telling  her  she  hoped  this  would  be  the  last  letter ; 
for  in  three  days  Leonard  was  coming  to  fetch  her, 
and  then  there  would  be  the  joy  of  meeting  again 
— O how  much  better  than  writing  ! And  she  w-as 
saying  how  far  less  formidable  than  she  had  antici- 
pated her  visit  had  proved  ; how  kind  all  had  been 
to  her ; “ and  yet,  dear  Margaret,  in  one  or  two 
things  I have  been  disappointed  ; but  I will  tell  you 
all  when  we  meet.”  She  was  just  finishing  when 
the  door  opened,  and  Walter  entered  the  room. 
The  remembrance  of  the  past  night  was  so  painful 


64 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


to  her  that  she  could  not  dare  to  look  at  him.  She 
felt  the  color  come  into  her  face ; but  she  forced 
herself  to  continue  her  writing  without  appearing 
to  observe  his  presence.  He  came  up,  however, 
and  seated  himself  near  her  at  the  writing-table.  A 
few  moments  passed  without  a word  being  spoken ; 
only  the  sound  of  Georgie’s  pen  was  heard,  as  it 
moved  nervously  along.  At  length  Walter  broke 
the  silence ; and  it  was  in  a tone  of  such  passionate 
earnestness,  that  it  made  his  cousin  start  and  the 
pen  drop  suddenly  from  her  fingers. 

‘‘  I see  how  it  is,  Georgina,”  he  said  ; “ you  dis- 
dain me  now,  like  the  rest  of  them ; and  I can’t 
blame  you,  for  you  have  reason.  My  behavior  to 
you  has  been  despicable,  mean,  ungrateful.  I am 
ashamed  of  it.  I can’t  ask  you  to  forgive  it,  for  I 
don’t  deserve  that ; but,  0 just  once  before  you  up- 
braid me,  once  more  before  you  reproach  and  hate 
me  as  I deserve,  lay  your  hand  on  my  arm  as  you 
did  last  night ; speak  to  me  again  as  you  did  then ; 
say  those  kind,  gentle  words — call  me  ‘ dear  Wal- 
ter’— ’twas  the  first  time  any  one  did,  since  my 
mother’s  death;  and  I was  wretch  enough  to  re- 
pulse you.  Won’t  you,”  he  added,  after  a pause, 
in  a tone  of  hopelessness,  “ can’t  you  forget  it  all, 
for  one  moment 

Georgie  had  risen  from  her  seat  as  he  spoke  ; her 
large  thoughtful  eyes  beaming  with  a light  almost 
unnatural  to  them.  She  could  hardly  believe  it  to 
be  a reality  that  Walter  was  there,  speaking  those 


SYMPATHY. 


65 


"words  to  her : the  impassioned  tone  did  not  frighten 
her  : but  each  fresh  sentence  pained  her  very  heart. 
She  felt  such  sorrow,  such  compassion  for  his  grief. 
And,  when  he  stopped  and  paused,  the  words  that 
rose  to  her  lips  in  reply  could  find  no  utterance. 

‘‘Not  for  one  moment  ?”  he  repeated. 

“ For  one  moment ! O Walter,  it  has  been  for- 
given long  ago.  I was  not  angry,  dear  Walter — 
only  sorry,  so  sorry  to  have  vexed  you.  I guessed 
you  were  unhappy  before.  Do  you  think  I would 
have  tried  to  make  you  more  so  ? But  it  was  done 
in  thoughtlessness ; you  must  forgive  me  too,  for 
having  troubled  you.” 

“ Stop/’  cried  he,  “ I cannot  have  you  speak  so.” 
He  stooped  hi§  head  over  his  folded  arms  then  ; but 
Georgina  could  see  that  he  was  still  violently  agi- 
tated. She  went  up  to  him,  and  again  laid  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  thinking  it  might  pacify  him, 
and  show  how  truly  she  forgave  all.  In  a few  mo- 
ments he  became  more  calm  ; and  then,  rising  and 
taking  the  little  hand  into  his  own,  he  kissed  it  rev- 
erentially, 

“ Then  you  forgive  me,  and  will  be  my  friend 
still  he  asked  in  a low  voice. 

“ Yes  : your  little  sister,  if  you  like,”  she  said. 
“ Only  that  I am  going  so  soon  ; but  you  can  come 
and  see  us.” 

“Thank  you.”  Then  glancing  his  eye  at  the 
timepiece,  “ You  are  busy  now,”  he  said. 

“ No.  My  letter  is  just  finished.” 

6* 


66 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“Well,  then,  I will  answer  your  question;  that 
is,  if  you  care  about  it  now : it  is  the  least  I can 
do.  I am  wretched  here,  Georgina — unhappy  isn’t 
a strong-enough  term — so  wretched  that  if  it  keeps 
on  much  longer  I won’t  put  up  with  it,  but  go 
w^here  my  presence  shall  not  be  an  infliction  to  any 
one.  I have  been  trampled  on  quite  long  enough.” 
Georgina  was  a little  frightened.  “ What  do 
you  mean,  Walter  she  asked.  “ Who  tramples 
on  you  f ’ 

“ Every  one ; and  that  just  because  I am  poor. 
My  uncle  taunts  me  wdth  it  continually ; remind- 
ing me,  W'henever  I don’t  just  please  him,  that  I am 
living  on  his  charity.  Lloyd  and  the  girls  throw  it 
in  my  teeth  whenever  they  can  find  the  oppor- 
tunity ; and  even  the  very  servants  have  been 
taught  to  look  down  upon  me,  because  I have  no 
fortune,  and  am  dependent.” 

“ Dreadful !”  said  Georgie.  “ But  can  that  be 
the  only  reason 

“ 0 that  is  reason  enough  for  them,”  replied 
Walter.  “ Money  and  rank  and  station  and  amuse- 
ments are  all  they  think  about  here;  and  if  you 
haven’t  got  the  one  and  don’t  care  about  the  other, 
you’re  not  fit  for  their  society — you  may  go  to  the 
dogs,  for  all  they  care.” 

“ Hush  !”  she  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

“It  is  true,”  Walter  continued,  in  a vehement 
tone.  “ I am  proud,  I know,  and  I can’t  endure  it. 
Though  I’ve  no  money,  I ^m  as  good  as  any  of 


SYMPATHY. 


C7 


them.  My  mother  was  their  mother’s  own  sister ; 
but  one  married  a poor  officer,  and  the  other  a rich 
baronet ; and  for  that  and  nothing  else  I am  des- 
pised and  scorned  in  this  way,  not  even  considered 
worthy  to  be  introduced  as  their  cousin.” 

Georgie  felt  almost  sorry  she  had  asked  Walter 
anything  about  his  trouble,  she  seemed  so  utterly 
unable  to  say  a word  of  advice  or  encourage- 
ment. 

Has  it  always  been  so  ?”  she  asked  at  last. 

Yes,  ever  since  I came,  which  is  a little  more 
than  a year  now ; and  I’ve  borne  it  pretty  patiently ; 
but  I shan’t  much  longer,” 

“ Walter ! what  are  you  thinking  of  doing  V 
“ Taking  myself  right  off,  and  relieving  them  of 
the  burden  of  my  support,”  he  answered  shortly. 

“ What ! without  telling  them,  ?”  Georgie  said. 

That  would  be  very  wrong.”  She  spoke  so 
gravely  and  decidedly  that  Walter  feared  he  had 
gone  rather  too  far. 

“ Well,  don’t  you  think  I have  a right?”  he  said. 
‘‘  Listen  : my  uncle  declares  I shall  either  go  into 
the  Church — he  has  a paltry  living  somewhere,  I 
believe — or  be  a lawyer.  I am  equally  determined 
that  I will  do  neither.  I’m  not  fit  for  the  Church, 
and  never  shall  be  ; and  the  law  I hate  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart ; and  so,  as  we  can’t  pull  to- 
gether, isn’t  it  much  better  we  should  part  ? They 
none  of  them  care  a straw  for  me,  and  would  be 
tliankful  to  get  rid  of  me  if  they  could  do  it  de- 


68 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


cently  ; and  so,  if  I take  French  leave  and  go,  why 
it  would  save  them  further  trouble.” 

He  spoke  lightly  ; but  Georgie  could  see  that  he 
was  feeling  more  than  he  chose  to  own  ; and  that 
these  arguments,  though  they  might  have  been  re- 
peated many  times  to  himself,  barely  sufficed  to 
satisfy  his  conscience. 

“ Is  not  my  uncle  your  guardian,  Walter]” 

Yes.” 

“ Then  you  ought  to  obey  him  in  the  place  of 
your  parents.  I am  quite  sure  this  plan  of  yours 
is  very  wrong.  O don’t  think  of  it.” 

“I  never  will  obey  a tyrant,”  Walter  answered 
sternly. 

What  do  you  wish  to  do  when  you  grow  up  ]” 
“ Why,  follow  my  father’s  profession,  to  be  sure 
— ^go  into  the  army.” 

“ And  does  my  uncle  know  you  wish  that  ]” 

“ Certainly ; and  that  makes  him  all  the  more 
opposed.  I spoke  to  Lloyd  about  it  once  too  * and 
he  told  me  to  go  and  get  the  money  to  buy  my 
commission.  That  was  a fine  speech,  wasn’t  it]” 
Georgie  was  sadly  distressed : she  did  not  like 
the  way  in  which  W alter  spoke  : she  felt  so  surely 
that  there  must  be  some  faults  with  him  too ; but 
yet  she  pitied  him  so  much  that  she  dared  not  in- 
quire more  plainly.  There  was  a pause  for  some 
time;  and  then  she  said  earnestly,  “ O Walter,  I 
wish  you  were  a Christian !” 

“ A Christian ! what  do  you  take  me  for  then, 


SYMPATHY. 


69 


Georgie?  a Jew,  Turk,  infidel,  or  heretic'?  poor 
things  who  are  only  prayed  for  once  a year !” 

“ Leonard  says,”  she  replied,  taking  no  notice  of 
the  bantering  tone  he  used,  “ that  a real  Christian 
is  one  who  is  like  Christ;  who  loves 'him  first  of  all 
and  most  of  all,  and  who  is  always  trying  to  do 
what  pleases  him.” 

And  you  don’t  think  I do 
“ I was  not  thinking  so  much  of  that ; only  real 
Christians  can  go  to  God  in  their  troubles,  and  ask 
him  to  help  them  ; and  he  always  hears  their 
prayers,  and  sends  help  in  some  way  or  other.” 
Walter  had  long  ceased  to  go  to  God  in  any 
way ; and  he  did  not  give  much  heed  to  the  words 
the  little  girl  said,  though  there  was  a certain 
charm  in  them  as  coming  from  her,  and  a feeling 
of  respect  too,  which  made  him  hear  her  patiently. 

“ I shouldn’t  mind  anything,”  he  said,  “ if  I were 
only  my  own  master ; and  that  won’t  be  yet  for 
four  or  five  years  to  come.” 

She  saw  that  he  was  anxious  to  change  the  sub- 
ject ; that  the  theme  which  was  all  of  interest  to 
her  was  of  none  to  him.  But  this  might  be  her 
last  opportunity  ; and  would  it  be  faithful  to  neg- 
lect it'?  “We  may  not  live  till  then,”  she  said 
seriously,  “dear  Walter.  The  Bible  says,  ‘Seek 
ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteous- 
ness’.” 

“ You  are  a little  bit  of  an  enthusiast,”  was  his 
reply.  Then,  seeing  the  tears  almost  ready  to 


70 


THE  brother's  WATCHWORD, 


come  to  her  eyes,  “ No,  don’t  he  vexed,  Georgina; 
you  are  a good  true  hearted  girl,  I know.  I would 
not  pain  you  again  for  anything.  I saw  from  the 
first,  even  when  I treated  you  so  disgracefully,  that 
you  were  very  different  from  the  rest ; else  I could 
not  have  spoken  as  I have  to  night.  Remember,  I 
trust  your  honor  not  to  repeat  it.” 

“ I will  remember ; only  make  me  one  promise, 
Walter.” 

“ Well 

“ That  you  won’t  think  of  acting  as  you  talked 
of,  without  speaking  to  my  uncle  about  it.” 

‘‘I  would  promise  immediately  if  you  were 
going  to  be  here  for  a constancy.” 

The  answer  could  not  but  give  a gleam  of  plea- 
sure to  Georgina ; but,  had  she  known  how  almost 
prophetic  it  was,  she  would  not,  perhaps,  have 
smiled  as  she  replied,  “ That  won’t  do.” 

“Well,  I’ll  not  go  yet.  Good  night,  Georgie.” 
He  shook  hands  with  her  for  the  first  time  since 
she  came,  and  then  left  the  room. 

Georgie  finished  her  letter  to  her  friend ; but, 
before  folding  it  up,  she  drew  her  pen  through  the 
sentence,  “ In  one  or  two  things  I have  been  dis- 
appointed.” Then  she  went  up-stairs,  to  read 
awhile  to  her  aunt  before  going  to  bed. 


V. 


SBP&R&TIOH. 

“ When  sorrow  all  onr  heart  would  ask, 

We  need  not  shun  our  daily  task, 

And  hide  ourselves  for  calm. 

The  herbs  we  seek  to  heal  our  woe 
Familiar  by  our  pathway  grow : 

Our  common  air  is  balm.” 

Keblb. 

expected  day  arrived  at  last : the  day  on 
which  Georgina  was  to  meet  her  brother  after 
a longer  separation  than  she  had  ever  known 
before.  Could  she  have  foreseen  all,  she  would  not 
have  anticipated  it  so  joyously.  How  well  for  us 
is  it  that  many  of  our  most  grievous  bitter  sorrows 
are  totally  unknown  to  us  until  the  very  hour  for 
their  development  is  at  hand ! The  thought  of 
them,  weighing  on  our  hearts  for  days,  or  weeks, 
or  months  beforehand,  would  crush  the  timid  fear- 
ing ones  to  the  very  earth  with  anguish,  or  mad- 
den well-nigh  to  despair  the  more  determined 
spirits ; both  of  whom  are  often  enabled,  from  the 
very  suddenness  of  the  affliction,  to  endure  and 
bear  on  more  manfully,  taking  hope  for  their 
guiding-star,  and  feeling  that,  after  the  first  ago- 


72 


THE  brother's  WATCHWORD. 


nizing  burst  of  sorrow  is  past,  the  most  bitter  in- 
gredient of  the  cup  is  tasted  also. 

Georgina  came  down  to  breakfast  that  morning 
with  a sunnier  smile  than  usual  on  her  little  pale 
face ; which,  however,  was  by  no  means  so  pale  as^ 
at  the  commencement  of  her  visit.  Her  uncle’sj 
prediction  had  proved  quite  correct : there  was  no 
disputing  that  the  air  of  Barnes  agreed  with  her 
most  thoroughly. 

“ Why,  you  are  glad  to  leave  us,  you  naughty 
little  puss,”  he  said,  as  she  wished  him  good 
morning. 

No,  not  glad  to  leave  you,  uncle  ; but  glad  to 
be  seeing  Leonard  again.” 

“Well,  then,  you  will  be  satisfied  with  seeing 
Leonard,  and  be  content  to  let  him  go  off  to- 
morrow or  the  next  day,  and  leave  you  behind  ? 
Ah  ! that  will  be  the  best  plan.  Silence  gives  con- 
sent : eh,  miss  Georgie 

“ Letters  !”  cried  Lloyd,  coming  in  that  moment 
with  the  post-bag.  “ Who  wants  any  ? Here, 
for  mamma  from  Clara : who  will  take  it  up  ? 
From  Arthur  for  you,  Francie ; and  two  more 
beside — one  for  you,  Georgie,  from  the  Bev. 
Leonard  Archdale.  The  rest  for  my  father,  I 
declare ! Not  one  for  the  postman ! ’Tis  too 
bad.  Now,  put  by  those  long  yarns  from  the  El 
mores,  I entreat  you,  Frances,  and  give  us  a little 
breakfast  first.” 

Georgie  had  taken  both  her  own  and  her  aunt’s 


SEPARATION. 


73 


letter  from  her  cousin’s  hand  as  he  spoke.  She 
had  lately  taken  up  any  morning  letters  that  came 
for  lady  Archdale  when  she  went  to  read  with  her, 
after  breakfast ; so  she  put  that  one  in  her  pocket, 
and  commenced  opening  her  own.  A little  mis- 
giving had  arisen  in  her  mind  at  receiving  a letter 
from  her  brother  the  very  day  on  which  he  was  ex- 
pected. Perhaps  it  was  to  put  off  his  coming  for  a 
day  or  two.  He  was  well ; for  the  direction  \vas 
just  as  usual.  She  broke  the  seal,  and  read  as  fol- 
lows : “ My  darling  Georgie : — I hope  to  be  with 
you,  as  I before  wrote,  to-morrow  afternoon.  A 
great  trial  awaits  both  you  and  me.  Your  uncle 
will  tell  you  pretty  much  what  it  is;  and  to- 
morrow evening  I shall  be  able  to  talk  to  you  my- 
self about  it.  I know  it  will  be  very  hard  for  you 
to  bear , but  you  know  where  we  have  both  found 
strength  in  former  trials,  and  we  must  look  there  • 
now,  Georgie,  and  commit  one  another  to  him.  I 
have  not  time  for  more,  but  knew  that  even  a line 
would  be  better  than  nothing  from  your  ever-loving 
brother.” 

Poor  Georgie  grew  perfectly  dizzy  as  she  read 
these  words.  A great  trial ! He  would  not  have 
called  it  so  unless  it  were  such  indeed.  It  must 
mean  a longer  separation.  That  was  what  would 
be  harder  for  her  to  bear  than  anything. 

“ Uncle,  what  is  it  she  asked,  when  she  could 
trust  herself  to  look  up  and  speak  at  all.  She  did 
not  notice  that  he  was  still  busy  with  his  letters, 

7 


74 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


she  was  for  the  time  so  thoroughly  self-absorbed. 
He  looked  up,  and  at  her,  almost  compassionately ; 
then  said,  in  his  usual  quick  easy  tone,  “ Nothing, 
my  dear  child,  to  distress  yourself  about.  Leonard 
is  perfectly  well,  and  only  going  on  a short  trip  to 
India.” 

“ To  India  !”  And  her  voice  died  away  into 
nothing,  and  the  color  vanished  from  her  cheeks. 
She  could  not  speak  another  word,  nor  ask  another 
question.  Plenty  were  spoken  and  asked  by  the 
other  members  of  the  family,  who  were  equally 
astonished  with  Georgina  to  hear  the  siidden  and 
unlooked-for  intelligence.  Bat  she  stood  there 
silently  by  her  uncle’s  side,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
letter  which  she  still  held  in  her  hand,  and  her 
thoughts  fleeting  over  the  weary  weeks  and  months 
and  perhaps  years  that  might  intervene  before  he 
^ could  possibly  return.  She  did  not  speculate  on 
the  probable  causes  of  his  sudden  decision  : the 
one  thought,  that  it  was  a settled  sure  determi- 
nation, fell  so  painfully  on  her  heart  that  it  could 
give  jDlace  to  nothing  else.  At  length  she  was 
roused.  Her  uncle  patted  her  on  the  shoulder  kindly. 

“ Come,  cheer  up.  Miss  Georgie,”  he  said.  “ It 
is  only  the  carrying  out  of  my  plan.  We  will  all 
do  our  best  to  make  you  happy  as  long  as  you  are 
with  us.  And,  for  my  own  part,  I don’t  feel  very 
sorry  at  the  turning  up  of  the  scheme,  since  it  has 
such  pleasant  results.  Now,  come  and  have  some 
breakfast,  my  dear.” 


SEPARATION. 


7r> 


As  he  spoke,  the  new  thought  flashed  into  the 
little  girl’s  mind  that  Leighton  would  be  her  home 
during  her  brother’s  absence;  and  mingled  feelings 
rose  in  her  breast  at  the  idea.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  burst  into  tears  : then  she  felt  how  ungrate- 
ful and  annoying  to  her  friends  such  a display  of 
weakness  would  appear ; and  with  a great  effort  she 
forced  the  hot  tears  back  to  their  source,  ere  one 
drop  fell.  But  it  cost  her  a considerable  struggle  ; 
for  she  had  not  yet  learned  to  conceal  much,  poor 
child ; and  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak  a 
single  word  to  her  uncle  in  answer  to  his  expres- 
sions of  kindness,  which  yet  she  felt  ought  to  be 
acknowledged.  So  she  smiled  as  well  as  she  could, 
and  nearly  choked  herself  in  endeavoring  to  swallow 
as  hearty  a breakfast  as  usual. 

At  the  first  opportunity  she  made  her  escape 
from  the  room,  and  hastened  up  stairs  wdth  her 
aunt’s  letter.  She  felt  as  though  she  could  not  go 
through  the  usual  morning  reading,  so  much  did 
she  long  to  take  refuge  in  her  own  room,  and  in- 
dulge freely  in  her  grief.  On  the  landing,  as  she 
stood  a moment  pondering  'what  excuse  she  could 
possibly  make,  for  she  could  not  tell  her  sorrow 
even  to  her  aunt,  she  suddenly  encountered  Wal- 
ter. 

‘‘  Georgina,”  he  said,  “ I should  be  wrong  in  say- 
ing that  I am  altogether  sorry  about  your  trouble ; 
and  yet  I can’t  help  telling  you  that,  on  your  own 
account,  I feel  very  much.  It  must  be  very  bad 


76 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


to  know  that  you  have  a great  friend,  and  yet  be 
separated  from  him.  But  you  see,  Georgie,  I am 
selfish ; and  your  staying  will  be  a little  comfort 
to  me.” 

‘‘  O will  it,  Walter  she  replied.  Being  a lit- 
tle comfort  to  any  one  will  make  it  easier  for  me,  I 
think.  Thank  you  for  saying  so.  You  are  going 
to  school  this  morning  again,  are  not  you  V 
“ Yes  : to  Campbell’s.  Good  bye.” 

Did  Georgie’s  eyes  deceive  her,  or  did  Walter 
actually  smile?  She  thought  the  latter.  How 
strange,  that  what  was  such  an  overwhelming  grief 
to  her  should  make  others  happy,  and  cause  even 
her  usually  gloomy  cousin  so  far  to  forget  himself 
as  to  smile  ! The  strangeness  of  the  thing  almost 
made  her  smile  too*  and  she  entered  her  aunt’s 
room  with  a far  less  melancholy  face  than  might 
have  been  expected.  Lady  Archdale  wished  her 
good  morning  very  kindly. 

And  so  I am  not  going  to  lose  my  little  reader,” 
she  said,  taking  Georgie’s  hand,  and  pressing  it 
fondly.  ‘‘  I am  so  glad,  my  love  : I should  have 
missed  you  sadly.” 

“ Thank  you,  dear  auntie.  Here  is  a letter  for 
you  from  Clara.  Shall  I wait  and  read  to  you 
when  you  have  finished  ?” 

“ Yes.,  dear  child,  if  you  feel  able  this  morning. 
It  must  be  a great  trial  to  ycu,  parting  with  your 
brother,  and  for  so  long.” 

Georgie  was  thankful  to  find  that  her  aunt  knew 


SEPARATION. 


77 


all  about  it ; and  yet  she  could  not  naake  up  her 
mind  to  ask  any  particulars,  though  she  did  long  to 
know  how  great  a time  that  “so  long”  meant. 
But  she  began  wisely  to  think  that  it  %vas  best  not 
to  dwell  too  much  on  her  own  feelings.  She  gave 
up  all  thoughts  of  evading  the  accustomed  reading ; 
and,  reaching  the  Bible,  she  sat  herself  down,  and 
found  out  her  places  as  usual.  And,  as  she  read, 
she  felt  the  truth  of  those  words,  that  he  that 
watereth  others  shall  be  watered  also  himself.  She 
had  conquered  the  first  impulse  of  her  quick  and 
sensitive  nature,  in  order  to  minister  to  the  plea- 
sure of  another;  and  now  every  word  she  read 
seemed  intended  for  herself,  and  fraught  with  pre- 
cious comfort  and  encouragement.  The  words  of 
the  inspired  psalmist,  written  in  the  time  of  deep 
affliction  and  trouble,  fell  soothingly  now  on  her 
ear.  “As  for  me,  I will  patiently  abide  alway, 
and  will  praise  thee  more  and  more.  I will  go 
forth  in  the  strength  of  the  Lord  God,  and  make 
mention  of  thy  righteousness  only.  O what?  great 
troubles  and  adversities  hast  thou  showed  me  ! and 
yet  didst  thou  return  and  refresh  me.” 

“ Will  you  read  the  evening  chapters,  darling?” 
said  her  aunt.  “ You  will  be  engaged  with 
Leonard  to-night,  I hope.” 

Georgie  turned  to  the  place ; and  again  words 
came  as  though  addressed  to  her : “ Eejoicing  in 
hope,  patient  in  tribulation,  continuing  instant  in 
prayer.”  An  unchanging  ever-accessible  Friend 


78 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


would  be  left  her,  even  when  her  brother  was  gone : 
and  O what  comfort  in  the  thought  that  he  was 
ever  near,  ever  waiting  to  bestow  all  she  could 
need — ^patience,  hope,  and  even  joy ! 

She  had  just  finished  when  Augusta  came  to  call 
her.  “ Georgie,  Mdlle.  Victoire  is  waiting:  she  says 
she  supposes  you  will  do  your  lessons  regularly 
with  us  now.  It  is  just  right,  as  I only  begin  to- 
day.” 

Georgie  tried  not  to  sigh. 

“ She  will  have  a pleasant  pupil,  I am  quite 
sure,”  lady  Archclale  remarked,  as  Georgie  was 
leaving  her,  and,  w’hen  she  was  gone,  eontinued  to 
herself  with  a sigh,  Ah  ! if  only  one  of  mine 
were  like  her  ; but  I have  greatly  erred.” 

Lessons  till  one  o’clock,  then  a walk,  and  then 
luncheon  ; when  Augusta,  herself,  and  the  younger 
ones  dined.  Lessons  after  that  till  four — the  hour 
at  which  Georgina  expected  her  brother.  She  had 
not  throughout  the  day  had  a moment’s  leisure  to 
waste  over  her  own  grief:  certainly  Mdlle.  Victoire 
had  returned  at  the  very  right  time.  Georgie 
found  enough  to  occupy  her  in  the  school -room. 
In  some  things  she  was  behind  her  cousin — in 
music  more  especially,  and  French;  whicli„ owing 
to  the  advantages  she  had  always  enjoyed,  Augusta 
spoke  with  great  fluency.  Georgie  could  read  and 
translate  perfectly,  but  could  not  converse  at  all  ; 
and  this  was  a trial  to  her,  as  mademoiselle  con- 
stantly addressed  them  in  that  language,  and  the 


SEPARATION. 


79 


smiles  caused  by  her  own  somewhat  awkward  re- 
plies wore  by  no  means  pleasant.  She  found  the 
Latin  and  mathematics  and  physical  geography, 
which  she  had  studied  under  Leonard’s  auspices, 
not  at  all  appreciated  ; but  she  could  not  help  feel- 
ing grateful  for  the  opportunity  thus  unexpectedly 
afforded  her  of  improvement  in  those  things  which 
it  was  impossible  she  could  make  much  advance  in 
at  Beech  wood. 

Nevertheless,  the  thought  would  come  into  her 
mind  from  time  to  time  that  the  mornings  spent  in 
the  library  at  the  rectory  with  her  own  dear 
brother  as  a teacher  were  far  more  pleasant  than 
these  were  ever  likely  to  prove,  and  how  long  it 
might  be  before  they  would  come  back  again  ! 
But  she  thought  of  the  ‘‘  patient  abiding”  of  which 
she  had  been  reading  with  her  aunt  that  day  ; and 
again  and  again  she  prayed  for  patience,  and  trust, 
and  hope. 

Five  o’clock  came : the  lamps  w^ere  lighted  in 
the  drawing-room,  Avhcre  the  family  were  assemb- 
ling for  dinner,  and  waiting  Leonard.  Georgie  had 
settled  herself  at  her  work-frame  : she  would  try 
and  please  her  brother  by  waiting  patiently,  and 
meeting  him  as  cheerfully  as  possible.  She  heard 
the  carriage  drive  up,  and  soon  the  footman  knocked, 
and  announced  her  brother’s  name. 

She  saw  that  his  eye  fell  on  her,  the  moment  he 
entered  the  room;  but  he  shook  hands  with  sir 
William,  his  cousins,  and  some  visitors  staying  at 


80  THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 

the  Hall  first ; then  he  came  to  her.  She  had  been 
feasting  her  eyes  upon  him  from  the  moment  he 
entered  : his  fine,  noble  figure,  tall  as  Lloyd,  and 
in  her  sight  how  much  more  beautiful ! his  perfect 
ease,  and  gracefulness  of  manner;  his  beautiful 
smile.  In  her  sisterly  pride  she  forgot  for  the  in- 
stant that  she  was  about  to  lose  him.  He  pressed 
her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  fondly.  “ My  own 
darling.”  Her  fortitude  well-nigh  gave  way  then  ; 
but  other  eyes  were  on  them ; she  restrained  her 
feelings,  and  sat  down  quietly  to  her  work  again. 
Lloyd  took  Leonard  to  his  room ; and  then  it  was 
dinner-time.  Why  did  not  Frances  ask  her  to 
come  in  to  dinner  with  the  elders  that  evening  ? 
To  sit  in  the  same  room  with  Leonard,  to  be  able 
to  look  at  him,  and  listen  to  his  voice,  would  have 
been  an  intense  gratification  to  her,  knowing  as  she 
did  how  soon  that  pleasure  would  be  gone  from  her. 
She  felt  at  first  as  though  she  had  been  slighted,  but 
recollected  that  on  one  or  two  former  occasions  she 
had  declined  the  invitation  when  offered  to  her ; so 
she  knew  that  she  must  not  complain.  But  the 
dinner,  though  in  reality  earlier,  and  not  so  long, 
seemed  to  the  poor  girl  an  interminable  affair ; and, 
by  the  time  the  ladies  came  in,  her  patience  was 
well-nigh  exhausted. 

Leonard  soon  followed  them.  She  had  been 
troubling  herself  how  she  should  secure  some  time 
alone  with  him,  and  wondering  if  he  would  be  able 


SEPARATION. 


81 


to  manage  it.  But  she  need  not  have  disquieted 
herself. 

“ I am  afraid  we  shall  appear  rather  unsociable,” 
Leonard  said,  with  his  grave  smile,  when  his  uncle 
and  the  rest  made  their  appearance;  “but  Georgie 
and  I must  petition  for  a little  seclusion  this  even- 
ing. We  shall  have  a good  deal  to  talk  of.” 

“To  be  sure,  my  dear  fellow,”  said  sir  William : 
“ it  would  be  strange  if  you  had  not,  the  last  night. 
Frances,  my  dear,. there’s  a fire  in  the  library?” 

“ O,  yes,  papa.  Pray,  Leonard,  go  there  as  soon 
as  you  like.” 

Georgie  had  risen.  “The  last  night.”  Could 
she  have  heard  rightly  ? O she  had  not  anticipated 
this  ! She  hardly  knew  how  she  left  the  room  ; 
only,  when  she  found  herself  alone  with  him,  and 
the  door  shuf,  all  control  and  restraint  of  feeling 
vanished.  She  flung  herself  into  his  apms,  and 
burst  into  an  agony  of  tears.  “ O,  Leonard  ! Leo- 
nard !”  He  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  took  her  in 
his  arms  as  if  she  had  been  a child,  as  he  had  done 
years  before,  in  times  of  sorrow ; but  he  did  not 
speak.  It  seemed  uni*easonable  to  tell  her  not  to 
give  way,  when  his  own  heart  was  heavy  and  well- 
nigh  overflowing  with  the  same  bitter  feelings. 

“ When  ?”  she  asked  at  length,  between  her  sobs. 

“ Early  to-morrow  morning.  My  darling  child, 
don’t  distress  me  more.  It  is  grievous  for  me,  as 
for  you.” 

“ Can  I help  it  ? O Leonard,  say  something  to 


82 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


comfort  me.  Is  it  utterly  impossible  to  take  me 
with  you 

“ Utterly,  my  darling.” 

Another  burst  of  tears,  and  then — 

“ Will  it  be  very  long  ?” 

‘‘  Many  months  perhaps ; but  don’t  think  of  that. 
‘ As  thy  days  thy  strength  shall  be.’  We  must  not 
look  on  beyond  that,  simply  believe  the  promise. 
We  need  much  strength  to-night,  Georgie.” 

There  was  a long  pause  ; during  which  both  lifted 
up  their  hearts  in  silent  prayer  to  their  Father,  who 
had  sent  the  trial,  and  'who  was  now  sending  strength 
and  patience  to  bear  it.  Georgie  grew  calm. 

“ It  is  pleasant  to  lie  like  this,  and  feel  your 
strong  arm,  and  see  your  dear  face : it  seems  so 
like  old  times,  Leonard,  dear.  But  I shall  tire  you 
now,  perhaps  ; I am  so  old.”  * 

She  smiled  sadly. 

He  answered  by  kissing  her  fondly ; and  pres- 
ently he4said  : “ Are  you  comfortable  here,  little 

Georgie  f’ 

“ O they  are  all  very  kind : of  course  it  is  not 
like  home ; but  I love  auntie  very  much,  and  uncle 
too.’’ 

“ And  your  cousins 

“ They  are  all  very  kind  to  me,  and  Mademois- 
elle Victoire  teaches  me,  with  Augusta  and  Carrie, 
and  little  Tom,  things  you  know  that  I could  not 
learn  very  perfectly  at  Beechwood.” 

Georgie’s  quick  perception  had  shown  her  that 


SEPARATION. 


83 


her  brother  was  feeling  very  ixiuch  more  than  she 
had  ever  known  him  before,  and  on  her  account.  And 
so  what  little  annoyances  and  disagreeables  she  had 
encountered  during  her  stay,  she  carefully  kept  in 
the  background,  that  he  might  not  be  farther  dis- 
tressed by  the  thought  that  he  was  leaving  her  not 
thoroughly  comfortable. 

“ Then  vou  think  you  can  be  happy  here  while  I 
am  away  ? There  is  no  other  alternative  but  a 
school ; and  that  I am  sure  sir  William  would  not 
allow  for  a moment ; neither  should  I like  it.” 

“ Will  the  rectory  be  shut  up  V 
No,  darling.  Mr.  Grove  is  coming  to  take  the 
duty  during  my  absence  ; and  he  will  live  there, 
you  know.” 

‘‘  Poor  Beechwood.” 

And  Georgie  could  not  restrain  a few  quiet  tears. 

“ What  becomes  of  Mrs.  Airey 

‘‘  She  remains  there,  dear ; and  the  other  serv- 
ants too.  I had  such  messages  for  you  this  morn- 
ing. A great  deal  of  love  from  Margaret  and  Mrs, 
Murray,  and  a letter  from  each.” 

He  gave  them  to  her ; she  put  them  silently  into 
her  pocket,  then  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder 
again. 

“ Georgie,  darling,  how  has  it  been  with  you  in 
higher  things  since  coming  here  ? Has  the  inner 
life  advanced  'I  Have  you  been  able  to  walk  wisely 
and  consistently  ?” 

“ I have  not  had  so  many  temptations  as  I ex- 


84 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


pected,  Leonard.  I have  been  very  happy  some- 
times, but  I am  afraid  not  so  wise  nor  so  faithful  as 
I might  have  been.  I cannot  feel  courage  to  speak 
of  those  things  which  are  so  dear  to  me^  to  those 
who  I know  do  not  care  about  them ; and  that 
seems  so  wrong.” 

“ It  is  not  always  necessary  to  speak,  dearest;  as 
much,  and  even  more,  may  be  done  by  a quiet  holy 
example  as  by  many  words.  We  are  to  be  known 
by  our  fruits,  our  actions.  I don’t  mean  to  say  we 
should  allow  sin  to  pass  unreproved ; but  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  one  in  your  position  to  speak  to  those  older 
than  yourself ; it  would  be  out  of  place,  and  might 
be  productive  of  more  harm  than  good.  Except  in 
very  extreme  cases,  silent  holiness  of  behavior, 
which  will  not  smile  at  the  unholy  or  trifling  jest, 
or  join  in  the  worldly  or  sinful  conversation,  will 
be  more  becoming,‘^if  not  more  easy  for  you,  my 
little  sister.  But  even  this  is  difficult  to  our  poor 
cowardly  natures ; and  we  need  God’s  grace  to  as- 
sist us  every  day,  every  hour.” 

“ Yes.  Leonard  dear,  I know  it.  You  will  pray 

former 

“ Yes,  every  day,  my  darling.  You  will  never 
be  much  out  of  my  thoughts,  and  where  can  I think 
of  you  so  happily,  with  so  much  love  and  trust,  as 
at  the  throne  of  grace?  You  will  meet  me  there 
too,  Georgie  : you  know  my  usual  hours,  morning 
and  night.” 

Ah ! yes : that  has  been  such  a pleasure, 


SEPARATION. 


85 


knowing  that  we  were  praying  for  one  another  at 
the  same  time ; but  it  must  be  rather  different 
now.” 

Leonard  sighed  as  he  pressed  her  hand  more 
closely  in  his  own ; then,  after  a pause,  he  said : 

“ Do  not  for  any  cause  neglect  your  quiet  times 
alone  with  God,  my  Georgie.  Make  time  for  this 
duty  secure,  whatever  else  you  may  have  to  give 
up.  It  may  be  difficult  sometimes,  perhaps ; but 
you  remember  the  words  I quoted  to  you  not  long 
ago  : ‘ It  is  in  the  secrecy  of  the  chamber  that  the 
battle  is  lost  or  won.’  O,  my  darling,  I Avould  not 
have  you  to  be  the  loser  in  these  great  conflict^4> 
You  cannot  but  let  your  light  shine  before  men  so 
long  as  you  live  in  the  light  of  your  reconciled 
Father’s  presence ; and  that'light  never  shines  so 
sweetly,  so  brightly,  as  when  quietly  waiting  on 
and  communing  wdth  him  alone.” 

“ They  have  been  my  happiest  times  since  I 
came  here,  dear.” 

‘‘  And  they  will  continue  to  be  so,  I trust,” 
Leonard  replied.  Georgie,  dearest,  I have  a 
motto  to  give  you,  to  think  upon  when  I am  gone  : 
you  will  not  be  in  great  danger  of  going  astray,  so  ^ 
long  as  you  keep  that  steadily  in  your  heart,  look» 
ing  on  it  as  the  guiding  motive  of  every  action — 
only  five  words,  and  you  know  them  very  well 
already — ‘ Seeing  him  who  is  invisible.’  ” 

Georgie  raised  her  Bead  suddenly  from  her  bro- 
ther’s shoulder,  where  it  had  been  leaning,  glanced 


86 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD, 


into  his  face  a look  of  inexpressible  fondness,  and 
then  turning  back  again,  “ I understand  them  now,” 
she  said  : “ thank  you,  dear,  dear  brother.” 

Leonard  smiled  beautifully.  “ Invisible  and  yet 
to  be  seen — now  by  the  eye  of  faith,  by-and-by 
face  to  face,  and  for  ever.  Georgie,  how  thankful 
we  should  be  for  such  prospects ! how  small  earth’s 
trials  appear  beside  them  ! You  will  not  give  way 
any  more,  my  darling,  nor  make  yourself  unhappy 
by  thinking  too  much  of  me,  except  as  being 
watched  over  by  the  invisible  One.  And  that,”  he 
added,  ‘‘  will  not  make  you  unhappy.” 

Georgie  pressed  his  hand,  but  did  not  speak ; 
and  the  remainder  of  the  short  evening  passed 
quickly  away,  leaving  at  the  close  more  than  half 
unsaid  that  would  have  been  told.  Only  Georgie 
did  not  forget  in  the  midst  of  her  own  sorrow  to 
think  of  Walter,  and  ask  her  brother  to  use  what 
influence  he  had  with  sir  William  in  persuading 
him  to  suffer  Walter  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  own 
inclinations,  not  compelling  him  to  enter  upon  a 
profession  for  which  he  entertained  such  a decided 
antipathy,  or  for  which  he  was  so  decidedly  un- 
suited. Leonard  promised  not  to  forget ; and 
Georgina  was  satisfied. 

Half  past  nine  o’clock  struck  from  the  little 
time-piece  on  the  mantel ; and  then  Leonard  said, 
“ Now,  Georgie,  we  must  say  good-night.” 


Poor  child,  she  knew  that  it  was  not  only  good- 
night that  he  meant,  but  a long  weary  almost 


SEPARATION. 


87 


heart-breaking  good-bye.  They  both  stood  up : 
she  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck  as  he  stooped 
towards  her,  and  for  some  minutes  they  remained 
locked  in  that  close  embrace.  But  they  did  not 
speak  the  hard  sad  word  ; and  Georgie  did  not  cry 
again  ; only  Leonard  murmured,  as  he  quietly  dis- 
engaged himself,  the  words  he  ever  used  on  leaving 
her  for  however  short  a season — “ God  bless  you, 
darling words  carelessly  and  lightly  used  by 
many  who  think  not  of  the  deep  and  solemn  mean- 
ing conveyed  by  them,  but  never  so  by  him  ; and 
this  night,  to  the  poor  mourning  child  they  seemed 
to  come  with  fresh  power  and  comfort.  Then  he 
took  her  by  the  hand,  and  they  left  the  room  to- 
gether. 


VI. 


& HEW  PROTECTOR, 

“ So  I ask  thee  for  the  daily  strength, 

To  none  that  a.sk  denied  ; 

And  a mind  to  blend  with  outward  life 
While  keeping  at  thy  side; 

Content  to  fill  a little  space, 

So  thou  art  glorified.” 

Anoh. 


0 one  would  have  judged  from  outward  ap- 
pearances,  as  the  brother  and  sister  entered 
^ the  drawing-room,  of  the  deep  sorrow  in  the 
heart  ot  each;  nor,  from  the  quiet  way  in  which 
Georgie  said  “ Good  night”  all  round,  and  left  the 
room,  only  lingering  a moment  at  the  door,  and 
taking  a last  look  at  Leonard,  who  had  already  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  his  uncle,  that  she  was 
parting  with  her  d6(irest  earthly  friend,  perhaps  for 
ever.  But,  when  she  reached  the  solitude  of  her 
own  room,  her  grief  burst  forth  afresh ; and  she 
wept  herself  to  sleep.  She  had  fancied,  dear  child, 
that  she  should  not  sleep  that  night ; but  the  fatigue 
of  her  sorrow  overcame  her,  and  at  midnight  she 
was  in  a deep  slumber.  Just  at  that  hour  the  door 
of  her  bedroom  gently  opened,  and  Leonard  en- 
tered..^ He  could  not  deny  himself  that  last  look, 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


89 


and  thought  it  just  possible  she  might  be  awake. 
But  he  felt  thankful  that  it  witS"  not  so ; shading  the 
light  of  the  lamp  from  her  face  with  one  hand,  with 
the  other  he  gently  pushed  aside  a straggling  lock 
from  her  white  forehead,  and  then  bent  and  kissed 
it.  He  saw  the  traces  of  tears  on  her  flushed 
cheeks,  the  red  swollen  eye-lids  closed  so  peacefully 
now,  and  he  knew  how  much  she  had  suffered,  and 
what  she  would  still  have  to  bear.  For  a moment 
his  heart  failed  him.  “ Should  evil  befall  her !”  he 
thought.  But  then  his  path  was  plain  ; the  sacri- 
fice must  be  made,  sharp  though  it  were ; and, 
should  the  result  prove  what  he  hoped,  there  was 
great  joy  and  blessing  yet  in  store  for  her. 

Just  then  she  turned  in  her  sleep,  and  sighed 
wearily. 

“ I am  disturbing  even  her  slumber,”  he  mur- 
mured, and  pressing  one  more  kiss  upon  her  brow, 
he  turned  away. 

Glancing  round  the  room  as  he  left,  he  saw  his 
sister’s  little  Bible  lying  open  upon  her  dressing- 
table.  Curiosity  prompted  him  to  look  ; and  he 
found  that  the  page  was  opened  on  the  chapter  from 
which  he  had  taken  his  parting  text  to  her.  He 
took  his  pencil  from  his  pocket,  and  drew  a line  be- 
neath the  words.  ‘‘  She  will  know  then  that  I have 
seen  her  once  more,”  he  thought;  “though  she 
knows  not,  precious  child,  the  half  that  I suffer  in 
leaving  her.” 

^ He  left  the  room  quietly,  as  he  had  entered.  In 
8^ 


90 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


the  gallery  he  met  Lloyd,  on  his  way  to  his  bed- 
room, which  was  just  beyond. 

‘‘  Hey,  Leonard !”  he  exclaimed,  “ have  you  lost 
your  way  ? I ask  pardon.  I’m  sure,  for  not  being 
more  polite  in  piloting  you.” 

“ Thanks,”  replied  the  other  ; “ I believe  I know 
my  room  quite  well ; but  I have  just  been  to  have 
another  look  at  my  poor  little  sister.” 

Leonard’s  voice  sounded  almost  harsh,  from  the 
effort  he  was  evidently  making  not  to  appear  moved. 
Lloyd  observed  it,  though  he  could  not  quite  under- 
stand the  feeling : he  had  no  particular  love  for 
either  of  his  own  sisters ; he  liked  them  very  well, 
as  handsome,  stylish  girls ; and  his  vanity  was  al- 
ways gratified  when  he  heard  them  admired,  and 
saw  them  courted  and  flattered  in  society.  They 
belonged  to  the  family  of  which  he  was  a member, 
and  brought  no  disgrace  upon  it  from  lack  of 
beauty,  or  elegance,  or  accomplishments  of  any 
kind ; and  he  felt  a pride  in  them  on  this  account. 
But,  as  for  any  particular  feeling  of  aflection  or 
sympathy,  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant,  and 
would  as  willingly  have  parted  with  either  for  half- 
a-dozen  years  as  for  the  same  number  of  days. 
For  a man  of  Leonard’s  talent  and  self-control  to 
manifest  any  emotion  on  such  an  occasion  as  the 
present,  he  could  not  quite  understand  ; and  yet  it 
touched  him,  and  for  a moment  he  felt  quite  a com- 
passion for  them  both. 

‘‘  Poor  girl,”  he  said : “ is  she  in  great  trouble  ?” 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


91 


Yes,  terrible,”  was  Leonard’s  reply.  ‘‘  Good^. 
bye,  Lloyd  ; take  care  of  her.” 

“ I will,  I promise  you,”  he  said  warmly ; and, 
grasping  his  cousin’s  hand,  the}^  parted. 

The  next  morning  found  things  at  Leighton  Hall 
going  on  pretty  much  as  ever  ; only  Georgie  awoke 
with  a feeling  of  heavy  oppression  on  her  heart, 
which  nevertheless  she  knew  must  be  manfully 
struggled  against ; and  Lloyd  with  a little  awkward 
feeling  of  responsibility  on  his  mind,  arising  from 
the  promise  he  had  made  to  his  cousin  on  the  pre- 
vious night. 

He  fancied,  from  what  Leonard  had  said,  that 
Georgie’s  welfare  during  his  absence  was  confided 
somewhat  particularly  to  himself ; and,  although 
the  thought  of  patronizing  any  one,  more  especially 
a quiet  little  girl,  who  carefully  avoided  notice  from 
any  one,  from  himself  more  particularly,  was  not 
very  tasteful  to  him,  yet,  in  fulfilment  of  his  prom- 
ise, he  felt  bound  to  make  some  overtures,  and  try 
if  he  were  able,  to  divert  her  mind  from  the  de- 
pression she  must  necessarily  feel  in  being  thus 
suddenly  deprived  of  the  only  near  relative  she  had. 
He  felt  too  that  not  much  had  been  done  as  yet  to 
make  Georgie’s  visit  pleasant  to  her  ; that  his  sis- 
ters, wrapped  up  in  their  own  pursuits,  had  lefc  her 
alone,  to  do  as  she  pleased,  and  that  was  all ; and 
that  Mdlle.  Victoire,  whom  he  cordially  disliked, 
was  not  the  one  to  administer  much  consolation  to 
a timid  retiring  girl  like  her. 


92 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


He  fancied,  too,  from  the  regard  which  Leonard 
entertained  for  her,  and  from  the  books  which  he 
had  once  or  twice  observed  her  reading,  that  there 
was  more  depth  of  mind  about  her  than  in  his  own 
sisters  ; and  he  resolutely  determined  to  make  the 
attempt,  whether  successful  or  not,  to  draw  his  cou- 
sin out,  make  her  more  at  ease  in  the  family,  and, 
he  added  to  himself,  if  possible,  a little  brighter, 
and  more  like  the  rest  of  the  world. 

So,  as  the  breakfast  things  were  being  removed, 
he  approached  Georgina,  who  was  turning  over  the 
pages  of  the  “Illustrated  London  News,”  with  a 
very  thoughtful  countenance. 

“ Not  much  worth  looking  at  in  it  this  morning, 
is  there  ?”  he  asked  in  a patronizing  tone. 

Georgie,  whose  thoughts  were  very  far  away, 
wondering  what  progress  Leonard  had  already  made 
in  his  journey,  and  regretting,  as  she  had  not  ceased 
to  do  since  she  awoke  at  six  o’clock  that  morning, 
that  it  had  not  been  an  hour  earlier,  and  who  expe- 
rienced, as  she  alw^ays  did,  a considerable  amount 
of  nervousness  at  being  addressed  by  her  great  cou- 
sin, blushed  almost  crimson,  and,  mistaking  his  re- 
mark, answered  frightenedly,  “Yes,  very.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ?”  Lloyd  continued,  not  at  all 
disconcerted  at  the  very  unmeaning  response : 
“ Well,  perhaps  for  ladies ; but  her  majesty’s  move- 
ments don’t  particularly  interest  me;  neither  do 
these  fashions,”  he  continued,  pointing  to  the  page 
which  just  then  happened  to  be  uppermost ; “ but 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


93 


I suppose  you  are  not  exempt  from  the  common 
frailty  of  your  sex,  and  like  to  read  about  charming 
capotea  and  becoming  coiffures  as  well  as  the  rest  oi 
them.” 

Georgie  felt  quite  perplexed  ; fashions  being  the 
last  thing  in  the  world  which  interested  her. 

“I  think  I misunderstood  your  question,”  she  re- 
plied, awkwardly  : “ I have  not  been  reading  about 
fashions  really ; I beg  your  pardon  for  not  listen- 
ing.” 

“ O,  I did’nt  ask  anything.  I only  said  the  paper 
seemed  stupid  this  morning ; don’t  you  think  so?” 

“ It  did  not  interest  me  much  certainly  ; but  I 
thought  perhaps  it  was  my  own  fault.” 

Her  voice  faltered  a little  here,  and  tears  were 
almost  in  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  away ; but  her 
cousin  was  persevering. 

“ I think  you  are  fond  of  drawing  and  pictures, 
are  you  not  ?” 

“ Yes,  very,”  she  replied,  more  cheerily. 

‘‘  I have  some  which  perhaps  you  might  like  to 
look  at,”  he  said,  ‘‘  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to 
come  into  my  room.” 

“ Thank  you ; I should  like  it  very  much  some 
time.” 

“ Well,  come  now.” 

Ill-defined  visions  of  a gentleman’s  untidy  bed- 
room, and  the  strangeness  of  being  invited  to  enter 
it  at  such  an  early  hour,  more  especially  by  her 
cousin,  who  never  hardly  spoke  to  her,  floated 


94 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


through  her  mind  as  she  followed  Lloyd  ; and  she 
did  not  notice,  until  they  reached  the  apartment, 
and  he  opened  the  door,  that  they  had  mounted  no 
staircase,  nor  indeed  gone  in  the  direction  of  any  of 
the  family  sleeping-rooms.  Her  surprise  and  ad- 
miration were  equally  great  when  they  entered  the 
apartment. 

An  exquisitely  furnished  room  it  was,  large 
enough  for  every  thing  to  show  to  advantage  ; but 
not  so  much  so  as  to  give  the  idea  of  discomfort  or 
formal  grandeur.  The  furniture  was  all  of  oak, 
beautifully  carved,  and  the  chairs  and  lounges  cov- 
ered with  dark  green  velvet ; Brussels  carpet  in 
green  and  gold  ; and  the  walls,  papered  with  a rich 
green  flock,  were  hung  round  with  beautiful  pictures 
in  massive  gilt  frames.  Bright  glowing  paintings 
they  were,  principally  views  from  foreign  lands, 
and  one  or  two  interiors  of  splendid  cathedrals,  with 
the  lights  and  shadows  admirably  blended.  The 
windows  of  the  room  were  low,  opening  almost  to 
the  ground  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  out  into  a 
beautiful  conservatory,  gay  with  camellias,  and  red 
and  white  azaleas.  There  were  oak  stands  in  the 
other  windows  too,  filled  with  flowers  just  coming 
into  bloom,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  large  fire 
which  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  Georgie  might  al- 
most have  imagined  that  the  season  of  the  year 
had  changed  during  that  short  walk  from  the  dining 
room,  and  that  spring  itself  was  reigning  in  this 
pleasant  flowery  apartment. 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


95 


She  could  not  repress  a cry  of  admiration  as  she 
entered.  “ O what  a beautiful  room!” 

“This  is  my  sanctum,”  said  Lloyd:  “have  you 
never  been  in  here  before  ?” 

“ No,  though  I have  often  wondered  where  that 
conservatory  led  to.  What  lovely  flowers  ! Ah  ! 
that  rare  cyclamen  : I have  one  like  it  at  Beech- 
wood.  O it  is  beautiful  here  !” 

Her  genuine  expressions  of  delight  seemed  to 
gratify  Lloyd. 

“ Now,  what  do  you  think  of  the  pictures  ?”  he 
said,  when  he  thought  she  had  lingered  long  enough 
among  the  dowsers. 

She  walked  with  him  slowly  round  the  room  ; 
he  telling  her  the  subjects  of  the  diflerent  paint- 
ings, and  she  listening  with  a fixed,  quiet  interest, 
w^hich  told  how  much  she  enjoyed  them.  They 
made  the  entire  round,  and  stood  at  last  before  a 
pretty  landscape-painting  of  old  elm-trees  in  a 
park,  just  tinged  with  autumnal  colors,  and  the 
sunlight  shining  through  the  branches  on  the 
figure  of  a young  girl  asleep  on  the  green  turf 
beneath.  The  light  dress  and  golden  hair  of  the 
child  were  in  pleasing  contrast  to  the  shadows  on 
the  old  trunks  and  dark  green-sward,  and  there 
was  a peaceful  happy  expression  on  the  sleeping 
countenance  that  it  gave  you  pleasure  to  look  upon. 
Beneath  the  picture  was  printed  the  word  “ Con- 
stance.” 


96 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ That  girl  is  like  you,”  her  cousin  remarked, 
after  she  had  been  looking  at  it  some  time. 

“ Like  me  Georgie  said,  and  blushing  as  she 
spoke : ‘‘  O,  no : she  is  beautiful.” 

“ That  may  be : I don’t  say  she  is  not  better- 
looking ; but  she  resembles  you  nevertheless,  more 
especially  just  now,  that  you  have  that  pretty  color 
in  your  cheeks : confess  now  that  you  see  the 
likeness.” 

Georgie’s  only  answer  was  a yet  more  distress- 
ing blush. 

It  is  not  paying  the  artist  much  of  a compli- 
ment,” Lloyd  said  laughingly,  “ seeing  that  face  was 
actually  taken  from  your  own,  and  considered  by 
him  a pretty  fait*  representation — not  exactly  as 
regards  feature,  but  expression.” 

“ What ! did  you  paint  that  picture  f ’ Georgie 
exclaimed  with  great  astonishment. 

“ Yes.  Did  not  you  consider  me  guilty  of  such 
things 

“ O no,  I had  not  the  least  idea  you  could  draw 
at  all.  And  are  all  those  other  bright  sunshiny 
ones  yours  too  ? I like  them  so  much ; but  I had 
not  the  least  idea ” 

“ That  I spent  my  time  so  profitably  ? Why, 
\vhat  did  you  suppose  that  I did  all  day 

“ Hunting,  or  shooting,  or  riding  with  Frances 
and  the  others,”  she  replied  simply. 

“Thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,”  said 
Lloyd,  in  a tone  of  some  annoyance ; and  Georgie 


A KEW  PROTECTOR, 


97 


began  to  wish  that,  notwithstanding  the  beautiful 
flowers  and  paintings,  she  had  not  been  invited  to 
enter  her  cousin’s  sanctum,  when  he  set  her  mind 
at  ease  by  adding,  in  his  usual  good-humored 
tone, 

“Well,  I do  indulge  in  those  vanities  occasionally. 
Of  course  1 ride  every  day  5 but  my  mornings  are 
sacred  in  here,  whenever  I am  at  home ; and  you 
may  imagine  I don’t  waste  them,  seeing  I have 
done  that  picture  and  commenced  another  since 
you  came.” 

“ You  must  indeed  paint  very  quickly,”  Georgie 
said,  turning  at  the  same  time  away  from  the  elm- 
trees,  of  which  she  had  seen  quite  enough,  “ Which 
is  the  other  ?” 

“ I will  show  you  directly ; but  I want  you  to 
give  me  some  little  compliment  about  this  one. 
You  see  the  likeness,  do  not  you  1” 

Yes ; Georgie  could  not  but  see  it ; but  some- 
thing kept  her  back  from  saying  so,  A strange 
feeling  had  risen  in  her  breast  the  last  few  minutes, 
one  that  she  had  never  felt  before— a pleased,  grat- 
ified sensation.  That  there  was  anything  in  her 
face,  which  she  had  always  considered  so  common- 
place, to  induce  Lloyd  to  bring  it  into  such  a beau- 
tiful picture,  seemed  to  her  strange  and  unaccount- 
able, and  yet  rather  pleasant.  But  she  did  not 
like  to  confess  this  even  to  herself,  and  she  replied 
again  that  she  thought  it  much  too  good-looking, 
and  that  she  could  not  call  it  a likeness, 

9 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ You  don’t  seem  to  understand,  Georgie,”  Lloyd 
said,  looking  down  upon  her  scrutinizingly,  “ that 
the  plainest  countenance  and  the  most  beautiful 
may  yet  have  points  of  resemblance.  You  are  not 
what  is  called  handsome,  I confess : you  are  too 
pale.  There,  now;  if  you  would  but  keep  that 
color,  it  would  be  better — ” 

“ I shall,”  poor  Georgie  thought  to  herself,  “ it 
I am  talked  to  like  this.” 

“But  there  is  a kind  of  quiescence,  of  repose 
about  your  face,  especially  when  the  sun  shines, 
which  I thought  would  look  well  in  a picture  if  I 
could  catch  it  exactly.  I have ; and  you  see  how 
well  it  has  succeeded.  This  girl  is  not  exactly 
handsome—” 

“ Cousin  Lloyd,  please  do  not  say  anything  more 
about  it,”  Georgie  said,  looking  up  at  him  steadily  : 
“ which  is  the  other  picture  f’ 

Again  there  was  a look  of  slight  annoyance ; but 
he  changed  the  subject  immediately,  and  undbver- 
ing  a large  easel,  which  stood  near,  he  showed  his 
new  drawing.  It  was  at  present  a mere  sketch,  of 
which  the  subject  seemed  so  unfamiliar  to  the  little 
girl  that  she  could  not  at  all  comprehend  its  mean- 
ing. She  was  about  to  ask  for  an  explanation, 
when  there  was  a quick  tap  at  the  door,  and 
Augusta  put  in  her  head,  • 

“ Georgina,  I have  been  searching  for  you  every- 
where, Mdlle.  Victoire  wants  you.” 


A NEW  PROTECTOR^  99 

“ My  compliments,”  said  Lloyd,  “ and  she  is  en* 
gaged  at  present.” 

“ I had  better  go  perhaps.” 

“ No,  no  : there  is  not  the  least  occasion.  Geor- 
gina is  at  the  beck  and  call  of  no  one  in  this  house; 
and  you  may  tell  Mdlle.  Yictoire  so,  if  you  please. 
She  is  not  to  be  plagued  with  lessons  except  as  she 
wishes  it.” 

“ I had  better  go,”  again  interrupted  Georgina^ 
‘‘I  cannot  talk  French  at  all  and  she  sighed. 

“ No,  indeed  she  cannot,”  Augusta  remarked ; 
“ Mademoiselle  says  her  accent  is  quite  pitiable.” 
‘‘Trash  about  accent,”  Lloyd  exclaimed:  “if  you 
and  Mdlle.  Victoire  had  both  a little  more  sound 
English  in  your  brain,  it  would  be  a good  thing.” 
Augusta  drew  herself  up,  with  a look  of  supremo 
scorn.  “ You  are  always  finding  fault  with  your 
sisters  at  homo,”  she  said.  “I  shall  tell  Mdlle. 
Victoire  and  mamma  that  you  don’t  choose  to  let 
Georgie  come  to  lessons  ;”  and  she  left  the  room. 

“ Do  you  draw  Lloyd  inquired  of  Georgie,. 
when  she  was  gone. 

“ Yes,  a little.” 

“ In  what  style  1” 

“ Landscapes  mostly,  and  figures  in  crayons.”’ 

“ Do  you  mind  fetching  me  your  portfolio 
“ O no ; hut  they  are  not  worth  your  looking 
at.” 

“ VTell,  I might  help  you  a little.  You  don’t  do 
anything  in  water-colors?” 


100 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


No  ; blit  I should  indeed  like,  I have  longed  so 
to  learn.” 

‘‘  Well,  get  your  portfolio.” 

He  looked  them  all  through  carefully. 

“ Are  they  entirely  your  own  doing  he  asked. 
“ Yes,  every  stroke.  Mrs.  Murray  would  never 
put  even  a touch : she  says  it  is  so  untruthful.” 

He  gave  her  another  scrutinizing  glance. 

“ Then  you  have  done  remarkably  well.  I 
thought  some  one  in  the  family  ought  to  possess  the 
great  gift,”  he  said,  as  though  to  himself,  and  with  a 
kind  of  sigh : then  to  her,  “ I will  teach  you  to 
paint ; for  I don’t  think  you  would  worry  me  with 
incessant  tongue  clack  as  some  do,  but  go  on  quietly. 
I hate  to  be  talked  to,  when  I am  painting.  Cbme 
for  an  hour  or  two  every  morning.” 

“ I am  very  much  obliged  to  you,”  Georgie  said; 
and  her  eyes  glistened  with  pleasure.  “ Do  you 
mind  what  time  it  is 
No  ; why  ?” 

I go  to  my  aunt  always  after  breakfast,  and  I 
should  like  to  go  into  the  school-room  till  twelve 
o’clock.  I am  very  backward  in  French,  and  it  is 
very  kind  of  Mdlle.  Victoire  to  teach  me.” 

“ Well,  just  as  you  please.  You  can  come  from 
twelve  till  luncheon.  I shall  have  time  to  ride 
with  Frances  and  the  others  after  that,  you  know.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon  for  saying  that.  I did  not 
intend  to  be  rude.  I meant  Miss  Davenant  and 
any  other  ladies  that  might  be  staying  here.” 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


101 


Well,  I will  overlook  it  this  time.  I shall  be 
dreadfully  busy  this  morning;  so  come  to  me  to- 
morrow at  twelve  o’clock,  and  don’t  be  late.” 

“ Thank  you,”  Georgie  replied  in  a very  grateful 
tone,  as  she  left  the  room. 

She  saw  nothing  more  of  Lloyd  that  day  until 
evening.  He  did  not  appear  at  the  luncheon  table, 
and  went  with  Frances,  Miss  Davenant,  and  his 
father  to  a large  dinner  party  in  Barnes  in  the 
evening.  As  Georgina  was  coming  down  the  wide 
staircase  to  her  school-room  tea,  she  met  him, 
dressed  in  full  uniform,  with  his  sister  by  his  side 
splendidly  attired,  and  with  pearls  and  white 
flowers  in  her  dark  hair* 

He  was  talking  and  laughing  with  her,  and 
passed  on  at  first  without  appearing  to  notice  the 
little  slight  figure  which  shrunk  back  as  they  swept 
along.  But  he  suddenly  recollected  himself ; and, 
stepping  back,  he  said, 

“ Georgina,  why  do  you  never  come  out  with  us  ? 
You  must  sometimes : it  will  do  you  good.” 

“ O ro,  thank  you,”  she  answered.  ‘‘  I never  do. 
I like  to  be  at  home  best.” 

“We  shall  see  about  that,”  he  replied  ; and  then 
in  a lower  tone,  for  Frances  was  waiting,  “ Good 
night,  Constance.” 

She  blushed  and  laughed  as  she  returned  his 
good-night ; and  then  he  ran  down  stairs  ; and^the 


Georgie  was  thankful  when  her  tea  and  th^  eveij^ 


next  moment  the  carriage  drove  off. 


9* 


102 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


ing  lessons  were  over,  and  she  could  go  up  into  her 
own  room,  and  have  her  happy  quiet  time,  as  she 
called  it.  But  it  was  at  best  a mournful  time  that 
night.  The  thought  of  the  preceding  evening, 
Leonard’s  kind  dear  face  and  comforting  words  lis- 
tened to  for  the  last  time,  the  fead  parting,  and  the 
dreary  prospect  of  long  separation,  could  not  be 
dwelt  upon  without  tears  and  thrilling  sorrow.  No 
one  could  ever  replace  him  to  her.  Lloyd  had 
shown  himself  kind  to-day,  but  he  could  never  be 
like  Leonard  ; and,  though  she  had  felt  less  fear  of 
him  this  morning,  yet  still  he  was  so  gay,  and  at 
times  so  haughty,  that  she  did  not  think  she  could 
ever  quite  trust  him  ; and  he  would  very  probably 
soon  become  tired  of  noticing  her  ; and  her  na- 
turally proud  spirit  shrank  from  this.  She  was 
content  to  remain  always  unnoticed ; but  the 
thought  of  being  flattered  and  slighted  by  turns 
was  very  distasteful  to  her. 

This  feeling,  however,  did  but  pass  into  her  mind 
and  out  again.  She  opened  her  Bible,  and  read  her 
evening  j)ortions.  Then  she  knelt,  and  commended 
herself  to  her  heavenly  Father’s  faithful  care  and 
love,  praying  him  to  watch  over  her  in  her  present 
lonely,  isolated  position,  and  grant  his  peace  and 
rest  in  her  heart,  and  a pure  holy  aim  to  please  him 
and  to  be  like  him,  and  not  to  care  what  others 
t of  her,  so  that  only  her  actions  were  pleas- 
his  sight.  And  she  prayed  him  to  give  her 
CO  crucify  all  earthly  desires,  and  sinful,  un- 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


103 


holy  feelings,  that  in  the  midst  of  her  daily  walk 
among  others  she  might  let  her  light  shine,  and  so 
bring  no  reproach  on  the  name  she  bore. 

And  she  did  not  forget  to  remember  Leonard. 
As  she  knelt  she  held  communion  with  him  in 
spirit,  as  he  had  told  her ; and  the  thought  that  he 
too  perchance  at  that  very  hour  was  praying  for 
her  strengthened  her  mind ; and  she  rose  from  her 
knees  more  quieted  and  refreshed  than  she  had 
been  since  hearing  the  sad  news  of  Leonard’s  leav- 
ing her. 

She  found  Augusta  in  her  aunfs  room,  where 
she  went  to  say  good  night  and  read  as  usual. 
She  seemed  to  have  been  telling  of  her,  or  at  least 
of  her  cousin’s  delinquencies  in  the  morning ; zo 
when  they  were  left  to  themselves  she  mentioned 
to  lady  Archdale  Lloyd’s  proposal  and  inquired 
w^hether  she  felt  any  objection. 

“ Not  the  slightest,  my  darling  child,”  her  aunt 
replied.  ‘‘  It  will  be  well  for  him  as  well  as  you. 
He  has  great  natural  talent,  and  has  often  lamented 
to  me  that  none  in  the  family  sympathized  in  his 
favorite  pursuit.  I have  seen  you  looking  at  that 
.sometimes,”  she  added,  pointing  to  an  exquisite 
painting,  a copy  from  one  of  the  old  masters,  which 
hung  opposite  her  coueh : “ that  is  the  only  religious 
subject  he  ever  attempted,  I believe.  He  gave  it 
me  on  my  last  birthday ; and  I never  tire  of  look- 
ing at  it.”  ' ' r;  . 

It  is  indeed  beautiful,”  Georgina  said : t have 


104 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


often  admired  it,  without  having  the  least  idea  it 
was  his.” 

“ Your  brother  was  speaking  to  sir  William  last 
night  about  Walter,”  lady  Arehdale  said,  when 
Georgie  was  leaving  her,  and  saying  he  thought 
his  disposition  and  inclinations  seemed  more  adapt- 
ed to  the  army  than  any  other  profession.  Do 
you  know  at  all,  darling  1 He  is  a strange,  way- 
ward boy,  and  never  says  a word  to  any  one  of 
us.” 

Georgie’s  heart  bounded  to  think  that  her  brother 
had  not  forgotten  her  request  * and  she  answered 
eagerly;  “O  yes,  auntie,  Walter  longs  to  go  into 
the  army  ; he  has  told  me  so,  often.  Why  should 
he  not  f ’ 

“ There  are  difficulties  in  the  way,  dear  child. 
Your  uncle  has  always  so  wished  him  to  take  or- 
ders.” 

“ But,”  said  Georgie  timidly,  ‘‘  do  you  think  he  is 
fit  for  that  f ’ 

“ No,  1 am  afraid  not ; but  he  might  improve. 
Still  I do  not  like  thwarting  a boy’s  inclinations  so 
decidedly.” 

‘‘  Does  my  uncle  think  of  doing  anything 

“ I almost  think  he  will.  Leonard  has  promised 
to  be  on  the  look-out ; and,  if  anything  very  suit- 
able presents  itself,  I should  not  wonder  if  sir  Wil- 
^ani  were  to  buy  the  commission  and  let  him  go.” 

“,p  auntie,  may  I tell  Walter  1” 

^^You  may  speak  to  him  about  it,  if  you  like. 


A NEW  PROTECTOR. 


105 


dearest ; but  do  not  raise  his  expectations  too  high. 
He  may  have  to  wait  some  time.  Poor  Walter  ! I 
love  him  more  than  he  will  believe : he  ha*s  always 
been  so  estranged  from  us  as  a family  ; and  the 
girls  and  Lloyd  have  not  acted  rightly  by  him,  I 
know.” 

Georgie  saw  the  hot  tears  gather  in  her  aunt’s 
eyes.  She  kissed  them  away. 

“ Dear,  kind  aunt,”  she  murmured.  “ If  he  knew 
you  as  I do,  he  would  not  be  able  to  help  loving 
you.” 

“ You  must  try  and  do  him  good,  Georgie  dar- 
ling : you  can,  I am  sure.  Good  night  dear  child.” 


VII. 


THE  DR&WIHG  LESSOH* 


“One  word,  one  look,  one  thought  of  sin, 

Utter’d  or  glanced,  or  hiirbor’d  in 
The  heart,  where  Christ  should  reign, 

Tho’  mourned  and  wept,  will  leave  behind 
Some  moral  weakness  in  the  mind — 

Upon  the  soul  some  stain.” 

Monskll. 


' EORGIE  tapped  at  the  door  of  her  cousin’s 
studio  the  next  morning,  just  before  the  clock 
struck  ten. 

“ May  I come  in  for  a minute  ?”  she  said  timidly  ; 
“I  left  my  pencil  here  yesterday,  I think.” 

“ Certainly,”  said  her  cousin,  as  he  opened  the 
door.  “ I was  just  beginning  to  paint.  I am  going 
to  have  a long  morning’s  work.” 

Georgie  glanced  at  the  easel,  on  which  was  the 
same  picture  that  had  puzzled  her  so  on  the  pre- 
ceding day.  This  second  look  did  not  assist  her  in 
making  out  the  subject.  There  were  many  figures 
surrounding  what  appeared  to  her  a rude  stone  al- 
tar, and  by  this  altar  a woman’s  form  was  standing. 
She  longed  to  know  what  It  meant,  but  could  not 
stay  then,  as  she  had  promised  Augusta  to  be  in  the 
school-room  at  ten  o’clock  precisely. 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


lOT 


The  lessons  and  French  were  particularly  unin- 
teresting that  morning  ; and  very  glad  she  felt  when 
they  were  over,  though  vexed,  when  she  looked  at 
the  time-piece,  and  found  that  she  was  some  min- 
utes later  than  the  time  Lloyd  had  fixed  for  her  to 
come  to  him*  How  careless  he  will  think  me  !” 
she  thought  to  herself,  as  she  passed  hastily  through 
the  corridor.  She  knocked  twice,  and  waited  some 
time ; but  there  was  no  answer,  ‘‘  Perhaps  he  is 
gone  out,”  she  thought,  “ or  at  any  rate  does  not 
like  to  be  disturbed  at  his  painting ; so  perhaps  I 
had  better  venture  in.”  And  she  entered  softly. 
She  need  not  have  feared  disturbing  the  painter,  as 
he  stood  before  his  easel. 

“ Can  it  be  Lloyd  she  wonderingly  whispered, 
as  she  looked  at  her  cousin,  surprised  at  the  change 
which  had  come  over  him.  The  dark  blue  eyes, 
which,  beautiful  as  they  were,  she  had  never  seen 
with  otherwise  than  the  most  listless  expression, 
were  dilated  with  a strange  light.  The  short  upper 
lip  was  slightly  raised,  the  proud  head  thrown  back ; 
and  the  black  wavy  curls,  tossed  from  the  white 
forehead,  gave  a look  of  eagerness  to  the  young 
man’s  face,  which  astonished  the  child  as  she  stood 
breathlessly  behind  him,  to  look  at  the  painting 
which  had  so  entranced  the  usually  indolent  and  ap- 
athetic Lloyd. 

It  was  the  same  sketch  she  had  seen  before  ; but 
the  principal  figure  was  now  partially  completed ; 
and  she  saw  that  the  group  surrounding  it  was  com- 


108 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


posed  of  warriors,  some  in  the  prime  of  life,  others 
old  and  grey,  while  there  were  those  who  seemed 
in  the  earliest  youth.  They  were  listening  with  rapt 
attention  to  the  maiden  who  stood  before  them  ; for 
Georgie  could  almost  see  her  speaking,  so  faithfully 
had  the  artist  expressed  his  idea. 

He  had  represented  a scene  of  olden  time  in  the 
far  Norse  land  ; rocks  towering  around,  their  sum- 
mits capped  with  snow,  and  the  only  verdure  the 
hardy  pine  and  fir,  saving  that  round  the  Saga’s  feet 
bloomed  flowers  not  so  beautiful  as  the  lovely  form 
which  he  had  arrayed  in  snow-white  robes,  orna- 
mented with  borderings  of  mystic  Runic  characters. 
The  lady’s  golden  hair  streamed  down,  and  sur- 
rounded that  calm  wise  face,  as  with  a veil ; and  as 
Georgie  gazed  she  distinguished  the  forms  of  little 
children  plucking  hold  of  the  garments  of  the  won- 
drous Alruna  maiden,  whose  power  was  great  to 
influence  and  rule  the  hearts  of  the  childlike  but 
mighty  Vikings. 

She  stood  there  a long  time,  how  long  she  did 
not  know,  till  her  cousin  had  put  the  last  touches 
to  the  maiden’s  robe.  As  he  finished  he  gave  a 
sigh  of  intense  satisfaction,  and,  stepping  back  to 
take  a look  at  his  work,  he  perceived,  for  the  first 
time,  the  little  girl,  who  was  looking  up  at  him  with 
a fice  almost  as  wondering  in  its  expression  as 
those  of  the  children  whom  he  had  just  outlined  in 
his  picture. 

“ Why,  Georgie,  how^  long  have  you  been  here  ? 


p.  108. 


• 


} 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


109 


I had  quite  forgotten  you ; but  I have  been  up  in  the 
clouds  the  last  few  hours  ; and  you  must  excuse  me.’’ 
“ O,  I don’t  mind  in  the  least ; but  how  can  vou 
paint  so  beautifully?  I have  been  watching  you 
i ever  since  I came  in,  and  longing  to  know  what 
; your  picture  means.” 

“ O,  only  a fanciful  sketch  of  mine,”  he  replied 
carelessly,  as  though  it  was  a thing  of  no  interest 
to  him.  “I  will  explain  it  all  to  you  some  day; 
but  I am  half-famished  now : let  us  go  down  to  the 
dining-room.  You  must  have  an  extra  lesson  to- 
morrow and  he  was  again  his  haughty  self.  But 
Georgie  for  the  rest  of  the  day  saw  him  only  in  his 
studio  as  she  had  seen  him  that  morning,  radiant 
and  glowing  and  happy,  with  his  passionate  striving 
after  the  ideal. 

‘‘  Ah  !”  thought  she,  ‘‘  he  is  not  satisfied  with  him- 
self: he  wants  something  higher  and  better.  If 
only  Leonard  were  here  to  talk  to  him  ?” 

The  next  morning  and  the  appointed  hour  found 
Lloyd  quite  prepared  to  receive  his  pupil,  and  the 
whole  time  he  devoted  to  giving  her  elementary  in- 
struction in  water-colors.  He  took  an  easy  sketch, 
precisely  similar  to  the  one  he  gave  her,  and  drew 
with  her,  making  her  imitate  as  closely  as  possible 
every  touch. 

“ Not  that  I wdsh  you  to  be  a mere  imitator,” 
he  said  : but  you  must  get  into  the  style  of  the 

thing  first,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  compose 
studies  for  yourself.  I see  you  have  it  in  you. 

10 


110 


TIIE  brother’s  watchword. 


To-morrow  you  will  do  this  alone,  without  any  as- 
sistance or  hints  from  me.” 

And  so  she  did,  perfectly  to  Lloyd’s  satisfaction; 
and  from  day  to  day  she  made  such  rapid  advances 
that  he  began  to  feel  proud  both  of  himself  as  mas- 
ter and  of  her  as  pupil,  and  to  congratulate  himself 
on  the  plan,  which  had  cost  him  a little  at  first,  of 
admitting  a second  inmate  to  his  sanctum. 

He  found  her,  as  he  had  hoped,  a perfectly  quiet 
little  companion.  She  never  spoke  at  all  except 
about  her  work,  and  then  not  often,  unless  he  called 
her,  or  stepped  across  the  room  to  speak  to  her ; 
but  sometimes,  when  she  had  finished  her  own,  he 
would  find  her,  as  he  turned,  standing  wonderingly 
behind  his  easel,  watching  the  progress  of  the  beau- 
tiful picture,  or  looking  at  him  with  her  large 
thoughtful  eyes.  His  face  was  so  different  when  he 
was  painting,  that  she  found  herself  scrutinizing  it 
sometim.es  when  she  was  hardly  aware  of  it.  She 
fancied  that  there  was  something  in  it  beautiful  and 
peaceful  then,  like  Leonard’s  ; and  she  could  not 
bear,  when  he  had  done  painting,  to  see  the  fine 
features  relax  into  their  usual  careless  indifferent 
expression. 

One  morning,  as  she  was  standing  thus  by  his 
side,  looking  almost  with  reverence  first  at  him 
and  then  at  his  picture,  he  turned  round  suddenly. 

“There,  do  not  stir  from  that  position,”  he  said  ; 
“ I want  a little  Constance  to  complete  my  group 
of  Norse  children  ; and  I will  have  her  now  to  the 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


Ill 


life.  Quite  still,  if  you  please — but,  stay : what 
on  earth  is  become  of  your  hair  T* 

“ O,  I am  obliged  to  fasten  it  up  when  I am 
drawing:  it  comes  in  my  eyes  so.” 

He  pulled  out  the  comb  rather  unceremoniously  ; 
and  the  long  bright  curls  dropped  down  about  her 
face. 

“ There  : that  will  do : now  look  up  at  the  pic- 
ture again,  and  don’t  think  about  yourself ; but 
admire  my  beautiful  Saga.” 

It  required  a little  stretch  of  patience  to  stand 
just  so  lor  a whole  hour  and  a-half ; but  she  was 
repaid  by  Lloyd’s  thanking  her,  and  telling  her 
she  had  behaved  admirably,  and  that  he  should 
not  have  to  try  her  endurance  in  the  same  way 
again. 

It  was  a s%veet  little  face  that  he  had  painted, 
much  more  like  the  fair  child  under  the  elms  than 
herself,  Georgie  thought,  though  she  hardly  liked 
to  pay  her  cousin  the  ill  compliment  of  saying  she 
saw  no  resemblance  at  all.  The  shape  of  the  face 
and  the  hair,  and  perhaps  the  eyes,  might  be  her 
own  ; but  the  beautiful  coloring  and  expression 
were  fanciful  certainly,  at  least  as  far  as  she  was 
able  to  judge. 

But  Lloyd  seemed  quite  well  satisfied,  and  spent 
a great  deal  of  time  in  perfecting  the  figure ; and, 
as  this  and  other  new  ones  stood  out  from  the 
canvass,  Georgie  thought  that  she  had  never  seen 
such  a surprisingly-beautiful  picture  in  her  life  before. 


112 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


Much  to  Georgie’s  uneasiness,  she  soon  found 
that  Mdlle.  Victoire  and  Augusta  set  their  faces 
most  determinately  against  these  drawing-lessons, 
which  were  becoming  so  pleasant  to  lier.  “ They 
disturbed  all  her  arrangements,”  the  governess 
said  : ‘‘  she  had  been  forced  to  change  the  hour  for 
walking  ; Georgie’s  French  and  practising  were  ter- 
ribly neglected  ; and,  if  Mr.  Lloyd  wished  to  exert 
his  powers  of  tuition,  it  would  be  more  seeming  to 
begin  at  home,  and  instruct  his  own  sister,  who, 
notwithstanding  all  her  efforts  and  teaching,  had 
never  yet  been  able  to  make  a perpendicular.” 
Various  unkind  and  annoying  insinuations  were 
thrown  out,  in  Georgie’s  hearing,  till  the  poor  child 
became  distressed  and  uncomfortable,  and  felt  that 
if  things  were  to  go  on  peaceably  a stop  must  be 
put  to  her  lessons.  She  knew  it  w^as  a poor  return 
to  make  to  her  cousin  for  his  pains,  but  felt,  never- 
theless, that  she  must  propose  a discontinuance  of 
them  ; so,  summoning  up  all  her  resolution,  she 
said  to  Lloyd  one  day,  after  her  lesson  was 
finished— 

“ I am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you,  cousin  Lloyd, 
for  all  the  trouble  you  have  given  yourself  about 
me  ; but  I think  perhaps  I have  had  enougli  lessons.” 

“ Whatl  do  you  think  you  have  attained  perfec-  * 
tion  ?”  he  answxred,  drily ; “ because,  if  so,  you  are 
a little  mistaken.” 

‘‘  O,  no,  don’t  think  of  such  a thing,”  she  replied, 
getting  very  red. 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


113 


^ Well,  what  do  you  mean,  then 
I am  afraid  it  is  not  quite  convenient.” 

“Well,  never  mind  that,”  he  said,  more  good- 
humoredly  ; “ I rather  like  having  you  here,  because 
you  don’t  talk  and  bother  one.” 

“Thank  you;  but  I did  not  mean  quite  that, 
either.” 

“ What  on  earth  do  yon  mean,  then  f’  he  ex- 
claimed, impatiently:  “Are  you  tired,  or  lazy,  or 
what 

“ O,  no,  no.  I don’t  know  whether  I ought  to 
tell  the  reason ; but  Mdlle.  Victoire  does  not  like 
my  coming  very  much.  It  disturbs  her  so  about 
the  walk  before  dinner : she  does  not  like  walking 
after ; and  now  we  are  obliged  to  walk  then,  and 
she  and  Augusta  told  me  to  tell  you  so.  I did  not 
like  to  tell  you,  indeed  I did  not ; but,  if  you  will 
not  mind,  I can  give  them  up,  though  I shall  be 
very  sorry.” 

The  poor  child  stopped  here,  tears  in  her  eyes 
from  vexation,  and  nervousness  at  having  to  give 
such  a long  explanation  to  her  cousin,  whose  haughty 
features  were  working  with  pride  and  displeasure. 
He  stamped  his  foot  on  the  ground  as  she  ceased 
speaking. 

“ I have  a good  mind  you  shall  not  set  foot  within 
that  school-room  again,”  he  exclaimed.  “ Dictat- 
ing to  me,  indeed ! Not  choosing  to  walk  after^ 
dinner.  It  is  all  that  woman’s  stupid  conceit  and 
jealousy ; and  I will  just  go  and  tell  her  so,  and 
10^ 


114 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


that  she  shall  not  be  troubled  with  your  company 
in  future.” 

His  eyes  flashed  as  he  spoke,  and  he  strode 
across  the  room  in  high  wrath.  Georgie  was  se- 
riously alarmed. 

“ Don’t,  don’t  go,  Lloyd,  I beg  of  you  !” 

He  did  not  appear  to  listen : she  rushed  across 
the  room,  and,  hardly  knowing  what  she  was  about, 
seized  his  hand  to  detain  him. 

“ O,  cousin  Lloyd,  don’t  go  !” 

Her  voice  was  so  full  of  entreaty  that  he  stopped 
a moment,  and  looked  down  upon  her. 

“ It  is  on  your  account,  Georgie.  I am  deter- 
mined your  visit  here  shall  not  be  made  miserable 
to  please  any  one.  They  have  been  plaguing  you, 
I am  certain ; and  I might  have  known  it  if  I had 
had  my  eyes  open.” 

“ O no,  not  that ; but,  Lloyd,  some  other  ar- 
rangement might  be  made.  I don’t  care  about 
walking  at  all ; or  I could  go  in  the  garden,  up  and 
down  the  terrace  by  myself,  if  Mdlle.  Victoire  would 
allow  me,  or  have  a walk  with  Walter,  when  he 
comes  in  from  Baines ; only  don’t  say  anything 
mst  now.” 

“ Yes,  I shall.  Mdlle.  Victoire  absolutely  rules 
in  this  house.  My  mother  never  interferes ; hotv 
can  she?  And  Frances  is  too  lazy;  but  I will 
have  my  way  this  time.  You  shall  not  walk  with 
them  again  just  yet ; and  we  shall  see  how  they  will 
like  that.  You  shall  go  out  with  Frances  and  me.” 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


115 


“ O,  Lloyd,”  sighed  the  little  girl.  But  it  was 
too  late,  her  cousin  had  left  the  room. 

What  passed  between  him  and  the  governess  she 
did  not  know,  only  that  the  latter  carried  herself 
more  ungraciously  and  coldly  than  ever  when  they 
next  met ; and  Georgie  could  hardly  wonder,  though 
she  knew  not  what  to  do  to  make  her  feel  differ- 
ently. She  could  not  treat  her  with  more  respect 
and  obedience  than  she  had  hitherto  done ; but  she 
saw  that  from  the  first,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
Mdlle.  Victoire  had  disliked  her,  looking  on  her  as 
an  intruder  in  the  school-room,  and  treating  her 
with  far  less  consideration  and  kindness  than  she 
bestowed  on  her  own  pupils.  Augusta  and  she 
were  very  great  friends,  kept  up  a continual  gossip 
in  French  during  their  walks,  a great  deal  of  which 
Georgina  could  not  have  understood  had  she  lis- 
tened, about  the  company  who  visited  at  the  house, 
their  persons  and  dress,  amusements,  novels,  and  a 
hundred  other  things  in  which  she  felt  no  interest ; 
so  that  these  walks  had  been  rather  a trial  to  her 
than  otherwise,  especially  wFen  neither  of  the 
younger  children  accompanied  them.  She  felt 
quite  at  home  wdth  them,  amusing  little  Carry  by 
the  hour  with  poems  and  stories  of  her  home,  or 
things  that  had  interested  her  wdien  a child  of  her 
age ; and  Tom,  by  drasving  him  wonderful  pictures 
of  animals  and  trees  and  flowers,  or  patiently  teach- 
ing him  the  lessons  he  had  to  prepare  for  his  go^- 


116 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


erness,  and  in  which  the  young  gentleman  did  not 
Yeel  much  interest. 

They  both  loved  their  cousin  Georgie  very 
much:  her  gentleness  and  forbearance  with  their 
childish  ways  and  faults,  so  different  from  Augusta’s 
impatient,  domineering  temper,  had  completely  won 
their  affections ; and  in  any  little  trouble  she  was 
sure  to  be  sought  out  and  made  the  confidante ; and 
they  found  always  plenty  of  sympathy  and  assist- 
ance from  her. 

That  afternoon  chanced  to  be  wet,  so  there  was 
no  walking  for  any  one.  The  following  day,  at 
noon,  when  Georgie  was  leaving  the  school-room, 
as  usual,  to  take  her  drawing-lesson,  she  heard 
mademoiselle,  in  a very  injured  tone,  tell  Augusta 
to  prepare  herself  for  her  walk  ; as  Miss  Archdale 
was  not  to  accompany  them  in  future,  their  com- 
pany not  being  considered  sufficiently  good  for  her. 

“ ’Tis  but  another  of  Lloyd’s  caprices,”  said 
Augusta,  scornfully : “ he  will  soon  get  tired 
of  it.” 

‘‘  I hope  he  may  not,”  mademoiselle  answered  ; 
and  poor  Georgie,  who  had  heard  quite  enough, 
hastened  from  the  room. 

“ I shall  tell  mamma,  if  you  all  talk  so  unkindly 
to  Georgie,”  exclaimed  Carry : I am  sure  she 

would  be  very  angry.  Cousin  Georgie  is  better 
.’and  kinder  by  far  than  any  one  else  in  the  house.” 

I shall  punish  you  severely,  if  anything  you 
hear  in  this  room  is  repeated,  mademoiselle,”  re- 


THE  D:  AWING  LESSON. 


117 


turned  the  gove^^es^  : “ go  to  your  nurse  imme- 
diately and  be  dress(Ml,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of 
such  rude  speeches.” 

The  child  did  not  d '.re  reply  aloud,  but  muttered 
to  herself  as  she  left  Tie  room,  “Well,  I am  not  the 
only  one : Lloyd  knov  s she  is  not  kind ; for  he  told 
her  so  yesterday ; an  i I ’ll  speak  to  him,  if  I don’t 
to  mamma.” 

Lloyd  was  so  ab^'  )rbed  with  his  painting  when 
Georgie  went  into  h i study,  that  he  did  not  take 
the  smallest  notice  of  her ; so,  after  standing  a few 
minutes  by  his  side,  id  miring  the  progress  of  the 
picture,  she  seated  het’self  in  her  accustomed  place, 
and  went  on  with  he:’  work.  He  left  off  by-and-by 
with  a sigh,  as  he  v.  ry  often  did,  then  came  and 
looked  over  her  shou  der,  drew  a brush  full  of  paint 
across  a part  which  did  not  quite  please  him,  and 
then  went  out  of  the  room,  humming,  in  a low  clear 
tone,  a song  from  Tennyson’s  words,  “ Break,  break, 
break.” 

Georgie  had  become  accustomed  not  to  be  much 
surprised  at  anything  he  did  when  in  a painting 
trance,  as  she  called  it,  and  just  taking  a fresh  sheet 
of  paper  commenced  her  sketch  again. 

Lloyd  went  into  the  library,  where  was  Frances 
in  her  favorite  easy  chair,  and  a heap  of  books  on 
her  lap.  He  flung  himself  into  a lounge  opposite, 
and  drew  her  attention  by  a yawn. 

“ O,  Lloyd,  how  Iczy  you  are !”  she  exclaimed, 
looking  up  from  her  book  and  laughing 


118 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


“ I am  awfully  so,  I know ; and  you  not  much 
Detter,  by  the  look  of  things.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon  : I have  read  a good  part  of 
two  volumes,  and  entertained  six  tiresome  people 
this  morning;  and  that  is  no  light  work.” 

“ Where  is  Kate  Davenant 
“ 111  bed  : she  has  not  been  well  since  the  Mary- 
at’s  party ; she  danced  too  much,  I suppose.” 

“ And  George  Forrester  ?” 

O,  Lloyd,  you  really  are  too  bad.  It  is  not 
right  to  ask  people,  and  then  be  so  rude  to  them. 
You  never  take  the  slightest  pains  to  entertain  that 
young  man — at  least  of  a morning:  he  has  been 
gone  out  with  papa  the  last  twc  hours. 

“ It  is  very  rude  and  unfeeling  to  have  people 
here  and  not  nurse  them.  Poor  Kate  ! all  alone 
and  ailing : for  shame,  Francie ; it  is  really  too 
bad.” 

“ She  has  her  maid,  and  I have  been  up  twice  to 
inquire  for  her,  and  she  is  coming  down  to  dinner  ; 

I am  sure  I can’t  do  more.” 

Another  yawn  from  Lloyd,  and  then  the  second 
verse  of  the  song,  in  the  same  low  tone. 

“ I say,  my  dear  Fan,  do  play  me  that  song ; it 
is  as  beautiful  as  a picture ; I don’t  tire  of  hearing 
it.” 

“ Not  just  now,  if  you  please,  my  dear ; I so  want 
to  finish  this  before  luncheon.” 

“ Ah,  I forgot — Frances,  you  don’t  mind  Geor- 
gie’s  riding  with  us  now  and  then 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


119 


“ O dear  no  ; why,  but  can  she 
“I  should  say  so  ; and  the  reason  is  that  Mddle. 
Victoire  is  so  stupid,  or  vicious,  or  something,  that 
she  wmn’t  w\alk  after  dinner;  and  so  Georgina  is 
either  to  be  done  out  of  that,  or  of  her  drawing- 
hour  wdth  me.” 

“ What,  are  you  teaching  her  to  draw 
“ She  does  not  require  much  teaching ; she  has  it 
in  her,  as  I have.” 

“ But  what  can  she  ride 
“ The  black  pony,  if  he  is  not  too  fresh.” 

“Well,  let  her  come.  I don’t  mind  at  all,  only 
I hope  she  won’t  make  a figure  of  herself.” 

“We  won’t  let  her,”  he  said;  and  getting  up 
stretched  himself,  went  to  the  piano,  and  played 
through  his  favorite  air  once,  then  returned  to  his 
study. 

“ What ! did  I spoil  your  picture  ?”  he  said,  going 
up  to  Georgie  again.  “ It  was  too  bad  ; you  were 
doing  it  so  well.” 

“ O never  mind,”  she  replied,  “ I shall  put  it  with 
the  others.” 

“ Whfch  others 

“ Those  that  have  had  black  marks  across  them 
before,”  she  answered  smiling  archly. 

“ How  many  are  there  of  those  ?” 

“ O,  five  or  six,  I think  ; and  it  is  certainly  very 
foolish  of  me,  but  I don’t  like  throwing  away  my 
first  attempts.” 

“Is  that  your  only  reason  for  not  destroying 


120 


THE  brother’s  WaTCHWORD. 


them  ?”  he  asked,  at  the  same  ime  taking  the  brush 
from  her  fingers  and  scribi  ling  fantastic  figures 
round  the  border  of  the  spoil  1 drawing. 

“ Yes,”  she  answered  simp  y. 

He  went  on  scribbling.  G orgie  began  to  collect 
her  pencils  and  brushes  and  put  away  the  paints. 

“ Can  you  ride  he  asked  her,  just  as  she  was 
preparing  to  leave  the  room,  and  without  looking 
up  from  his  occupation. 

Her  face  brightened  as  it  often  did  when  she  was 
pleased,  without  a smile,  and  she  replied,  “ 0 yes.” 
“ Who  taught  you 

“ Leonard  : we  used  to  have  long  beautiful  rides 
last  summer.” 

“ Do  you  ride  well  ? ’ 

“ I don’t  know : I am  not  afraid.” 

‘'•Well,  that  is  one  great  thing.  Get  yourself 
ready  after  luncheon,  and  come  and  ride  with  Fran- 
cie  and  me,  will  you 

should  like  it  very  much,  if  I shall  not  be  in 
your  way,”  she  replied,  looking  down  ; ^‘but  cousin 
Frances  might  not  like  it.” 

“01  have  asked  her ; so  you  need  not  be  mod- 
est; have  you  your  habit  and  all  the  needful 
here 

“ Yes,  I dare  say  it  was  sent  with  the  rest  of  my 
things.  What  time  will  you  be  read}^ 

“ Let  me  see — you  be  in  the  library  a little  be- 
fore three,  and  I will  come  and  fetch  you.” 

“ Thank  you,”  she  said  again  in  her  grateful  tone. 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


121 


“Here,  take  your  drawing,  if  you  want  it,  and 
don’t  let  me  spoil  any  more  : seize  hold  of  my  hand 
at  another  time,  and  say,  ‘ You  shall  not.’  ” 

Georgie  smiled  at  the  hare  idea  of  her  doing  such 
a bold  deed,  took  the  drawing  and  went.  In  put- 
ting it  away  she  stood  a moment  examining  the 
strange  faces  and  figures  that  Lloyd  had  scribbled 
around  it ; there  seemed  such  talent  and  power  in 
every  stroke  of  his. 

A curious  sensation,  half  pleasurable,  half  of  pain, 
just  as  she  had  experienced  before,  came  over  her 
as  she  saw  that  one  of  these  faces  was  the  child  un- 
der the  elm-trees — the  Constance  as  he  had  called 
her.  It  was  very  faint  and  indistinct,  but  still  the 
same,  and  a tiny  wreath  of  some  sort  of  flower 
around  the  brow.  She  felt  vexed  with  herself  that 
such  a trivial  insignificant  circumstance  should  give 
her  pleasure  ; she  remembered  Leonard’s  words  .1 
the  night  she  first  heard  of  her  visit  to  Leighton  ; 
how  he  had  told  her  that  love  of  esteem  and  praise 
was  one  of  her  bosom  sins  ; she  had  never  felt  it 
more  than  at  the  present  moment ; but  she  recol- 
lected also  the  precious  remedy  for  this,  and  all 
other  sins  of  thought  as  v/ell  as  action.  “ Lay 
them,”  Leonard  had  said,  “ at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
and  let  the  Saviour’s  blood  wash  them  all  away.” 
“ Cleanse  the  thoughts  of  my  heart,  O Lord,”  she 
murmured,  “ for  thy  dear  Son’s  sake and  the 
tempter,  who  never  can  withstand  the  resistance  of 
heartfelt  prayer,  fled  away. 

11 


122  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

Georgie  was  ready  at  the  appointed  hour,  had  a 
pleasant  ride  with  her  cousins,  though  a little  too 
shy  to  feel  quite  at  ease,  and  demeaned  herself  en- 
tirely to  their  satisfaction.  She  had  seen  but  very 
little  of  the  neighboring  country,  seldom  going  be- 
yond the  outskirts  of  the  park,  excepting  on  Sun- 
days, when  they  drove  into  Barnes  once  a day  to 
church.  She  had  no  idea  how  beautiful  and  varied 
the  scenery  was ; and  her  cousins  were  kind  in 
pointing  out  any  particular  object  or  point  of  view 
that  might  interest  her.  They  encountered  in  the 
course  of  their  ride  many  people  that  they  knew. 
To  some  of  these  Georgie  was  introduced ; to  others 
Lloyd  and  Frances  spoke  without  noticing  her,  but 
told  her  who  they  were  after  passing,  and  then  went 
off  into  some  conversational  scandal  about  one  and 
another,  none  of  wdiich  Georgie  understood,  and  to 
which  therefore  she  paid  no  attention.  But  she 
wondered  inwardly  how  Lloyd,  with  his  rare  talent 
and  power  of  thought,  and  deep  real  love  for  the 
beautiful,  could  waste  his  words  on  such  frivolities. 
She  looked  at  him  again ; he  was  a different  man 
to  what  the  morning  saw'  him  : a careless  indiffer- 
ence, almost  amounting  to  recklessness,  was  the  ex- 
pression of  his  handsome  features,  and  she  remem- 
bered what  her  brother  had  often  told  her,  that 
beauty  and  genius  and  intellect  are  but  dangerous 
talents  when  apart'  from  the  fear  and  love  of  God 
in  the  heart. 

With  Lloyd  the  one  great  needful  thing  was 


THE  DRAWING  LESSON. 


123 


wanting.  The  pearl  of  great  price,  beside  which 
earth’s  brightest  adornments  are  as  nothing,  was  not 
his  ; he  was  not  willing  to  part  with  all  he  had,  to 
purchase  it.  She  thought  of  the  young  man  in  the 
gospel,  whom  Jesus  looked  on  and  loved,  and  she 
knew  that  nothing  was  too  hard  for  God.  “ I can 
pray  for  him,”  she  thought ; and  so  she  did  from 
that  day  forward. 


VIII. 


WALTER^S  STORY» 


“Lord  ! grant  that  ever  in  my  heart 
Such  dread  of  sin  may  be, 

That  I may  never  dream  of  rest 
Or  peace,  except  in  thee  ; 

That,  'neath  the  calmest,  brightest  sky 
Thy  mercy  ever  gave, 

This  heart  may  dread  sin’s  storm,  and  cry. 

Arise,  my  God,  and  save  I” 

Monsell. 


@;^INCE  that  night  of  explanation,  which  was  yet 
fresh  in  the  minds  of  both  of  them,  Walter 
and  Georgina  had  been  friends.  Strange  as 
it  seemed,  she  felt  more  at  home  with  him  than 
with  any  of  the  other  members  of  the  family,  her 
aunt  excepted.  She  told  him  all  that  interested 
her,  her  lessons  with  Lloyd,  her  French  difficulties 
in  the  school-room,  her  letters  from  Leonard — such 
parts,  at  least,  as  other  ears  than  her  own  might 
listen  to ; and  the  heart  of  the  wilful  impetuous 
boy  expanded  to  her  almost  child-like  confidences, 
opening  out  to  hers  in  return ; and  life  became  a 
somewhat  brighter,  less  cloudy  thing  than  it  was 
before.  His  grievances  were  still  a subject  of  bit- 
ter complaint ; but,  as  he  thought  and  spoke  more 


Walter’s  story. 


125 


on  other  topics,  they  seemed  to  become  less,  and, 
since  what  Georgie  had  told  him  in  reference  to  the 
subject  of  his  future  calling,  he  had  ceased  to  speak 
so  hardly  of  the  family  among  whom  he  was 
thrown.  Still,  at  times,  when  chafed  by  any  fresh 
annoyance,  he  would  indulge  in  very  angry  invec- 
tives against  them,  and  declare  that  this  promise 
was  merely  a bait,  and  that  there  was  no  real  in- 
tention of  its  being  fulfilled. 

At  such  times  Georgie  had  to  exert  all  her  in- 
fluence and  powers  of  entreaty  and  persuasion  to 
induce  him  to  be  patient,  and  sometimes  ventured 
to  tell  him  that  a little  more  forbearance  and  con- 
sideration on  his  part  might  save  much  vexation 
and  annoyance.  She  could  not  direct  him  for 
guidance  and  consolation  to  the  same  source  that 
was  always  so  open  and  welcome  to  her ; she 
knew  that  he  cared  not  for  it ; that  God  was  not  to 
him  as  a reconciled  Father,  or  at  least  that  he  knew 
him  not  as  such ; and,  since  he  had  called  her  an 
enthusiast,  she  had  felt  more  fear  than  before  of 
pressing  home  to  his  heart  the  subject  of  his  soul’s 
salvation,  earnestly  as  she  longed  to  do  so. 

She  knew  that  there  was  that  in  Walter  which 
never  would  be  satisfied,  though  his  earthly  pros- 
pects might  be  bright  and  all  that  he  wished  them 
to  be ; a craving  after  some  unknown  untasted 
satisfaction,  that  the  fulfilment  of  earthly  hopes 
alone  never  can  bestow. 

With  Lloyd  the  case  seemed  different.  He  per- 
il^ 


126 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


suaded  himself  that  he  was  happy ; and  his  easy 
careless  manner  told  the  same  tale  to  those  around 
him.  But  Walter’s  restless  melancholy  face,  though 
lightened  up  occasionally  by  the  fire  of  his  beauti- 
ful black  eyes,  was  enough  to  speak,  without  words, 
that  there  was  no  happiness,  no  rest  nor  peace 
within. 

Georgie  knew  nothing  more  of  his  previous  his- 
tory than  what  he  had  spontaneously  told  her  on 
the  evening  of  their  first  conversation.  She  longed 
to  hear  more,  but  scarcely  liked  to  ask  him,  for 
fear  of  reviving  in  his  mind  some  bitter  recollec- 
tions. But,  one  night,  as  they  sat  together  in  the 
library,  as  it  often  happened  they  did,  and  the  les- 
sons of  each  were  finished,  Georgie  said : 

‘‘  Walter,  you  know  I promised  to  be  your  sis- 
ter as  mu^h  as  I could  ; and  I feel  just  so  now.  Do 
you  mind  telling  something  that  I want  to 
know  very  much,  at  least  if  you  don’t  mind  talking 
about  it 

It  w^as  evident  that  the  subject  was  one  ever  up- 
permost in  Walter’s  mind,  and  that  Georgie’s  deli- 
cate reservation  was  at  dnce  understood ; for  he 
replied — 

“ Ah  ! you  mean  about  my  mother,  I suppose 

“ Yes,  I do.  You  mentioned  her  name  once  to 
me ; and  I thought  perhaps  you  would  have  men- 
tioned it  again.” 

“ No  : it  is  almost  too  sacred  ever  to  be  breathed 
in  this  place,”  he  replied  in  a deep,  troubled  tone. 


Walter’s  story. 


127 


“ But  I do  not  mind  with  you,  if  you  wish  it.  You 
have  known  trouble  yourself : it  has  done  you 
good,  and  made  you  what  you  call  a Christian ; but 
it  has  only  hardened  me.” 

“ Hush,  Walter,  I cannot  bear  to  hear  you  speak 
so.  The  trouble  was  sent  in  love : I am  sure  it 
was,  though  you  have  never  been  able  to  feel  it  so. 
If  you  only  knew  what  pity  God  felt  all  the  time 
he  was  sending  it  you,  and  what  love  and  pity  he 
has  for  you  now,  you  would  not  harden  your  heart 
against  him.” 

“I  do  not  harden  my  heart.  It  is  so;  and  I 
can’t  help  it.  It  would  be  untrue  if  I said  I 
thought  it  was  love  to  take  from  me  the  dearest, 
best  friends,  the  only  friends  I^ever  had,  and  leave 
me  poor  and  dependent  and  miserable.” 

‘‘God  has  not  done  that,  Walter,”  Georgina 
answered,  seriously,  but  very  affectionately.  “ He 
himself  is  the  dearest,  best  friend  we  ever  can 
have ; and  he  says,  ‘ I will  never  leave  you,  nor 
forsake  you.’  I could  not  be  happy  for  a day,  nor 
for  an  hour,  without  knowing  that  he  loved  me ; 
and  feeling  that  seems  to  make  up  for  all.  Yes, 
Walter,  I have  known  trouble  like  you;  but  I think 
I can  say  truly  that  I would  not  wish  it  to  be  differ- 
ent now.” 

Here  she  stopped,  and,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands,  wept  silently  for  some  minutes. 

Walter  was  very  sorry  for  her. 

“Shall  I tell  you  about  mamma  f’  he  said,  draw* 


128 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


ing  his  chair  nearer  to  where  she  was  sitting,  and 
speaking  very  gently. 

“Yes,  do,”  she  answered. 

“ She  was  more  beautiful,  Georgie,  than  I can 
possibly  tell  you.  Clara  and  Frances  are  beauti- 
ful ; but,  O ! they  are  nothing  compared  to  what 
she  was.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  bright,  and  yet 
so  full  of  love  and  gentleness  that  it  almost  made 
one  weep  to  look  into  them  ; and  her  voice  was 
like  the  most  exquisite  music  you  ever  heard. 
Sometimes,  when  Frances  is  singing,  a note  will 
come  that  reminds  me  a little  of  her  ; and  that  is 
one  reason  why  I cannot  bear  to  go  into  the  draw- 
ing-room of  an  evening,  because  it  makes  me  mad 
to  hear  anything  she  sang,  or  a voice  like  hers; 
and  then  to  know  that  she  is  gone.  I remember 
how  that  voice  used  to  entrance  me  when  I w^as  a 
mere  infant ; how  I have  lain  for  hours  in  her  arms 
when  I was  ailing  or  languid,  and  listened  to  it,  and 
thought  that  it  must  be  something  like  heavenly 
music.  And,  when  I grew  older,  and  was  angry  or 
vexed  or  impatient,  how  it  would  soothe  me,  and 
in  one  moment  make  me  quiet  and  happy  again  ! 
I remember  that  when  I was  about  twelve  years 
old,  I had  a very  great  illness.  I suppose  it  was 
fever ; for  I was  insensible  for  several  days ; but, 
when  I came  to  myself  the  first  time,  there  she  w^as, 
hanging  over  me,  her  beautiful  soft  eyes  looking 
down  upon  me,  full  of  sorrow  and  love.  I was  too 
weak  to  speak  to  her,  though  I tried ; but  I shall 


Walter’s  story. 


129 


never  forget  the  tone  in  which  she  said  only  those 
three  words,  “ My  darling  boy.”  I got  better 
from  that  moment. 

It  was  a delicious  time  while  I was  recovering. 
She  nursed  me  all  day  long,  giving  herself  quite 
up  to  me,  and  not  going  out  at  all,  though  she  was 
so  admired  and  courted  by  every  one  there,  that 
no  party  was  thought  complete  without  her.  O 
how  proud  and  happy  I used  to  be,  as  I watched 
her  flit  so  quietly  about  the  room  in  her  light  airy 
dress,  with  her  sweet  beautiful  face,  and  to  know 
that  it  was  I whom  she  was  thinking  of ; that  her 
heart  was  full  of  love  and  concern  for  me ; that  I 
was  uppermost  in  all  her  thoughts ; for  I knew 
that  I was  then.  Then,  when  I got  much  better, 
and  was  able  to  sit  out  in  the  verandah,  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening,  she  used  to  sing  to  me  wdth  that 
exquisite  voice  of  hers ; so  that  the  very  servants 
and  natives  stood  still  to  listen.” 

“ Where  were  you  then  asked  Georgina. 

At  Calcutta.  O those  beautiful  days  of  joy  !” 
Walter’s  face  had  been  in  one  continual  flush  of 
animation  all  the  time  he  had  been  speaking.  It 
seemed  as  though  he  w^as  living  the  time  over  again, 
and  was  happy  in  it.  But,  at  last,  he  stopped,  and 
said  harshly,  “ Well,  then  I lost  her.” 

“Poor  Walter!”  Georgie  exclaimed  involun- 
tarily. 

He  went  on  in  the-  same  tone : 

“She  was  only  ill  for  a day,  sickened  in  the 


130  THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 

morning,  and  died  just  at  sun-set.  I was  with  her 
all  the  time.  Papa  was  far  in  the  country,  and 
knew  nothing  till  he  returned,  and  all  was  over. 
She  was  insensible  till  within  about  halfan-hour 
of  her  death ; for  it  was  a dreadful  fever ; but  then 
she  opened  her  beautiful  eyes  consciously,  and 
seemed  to  want  me  to  come  nearer.  I was  not  cry- 
ing then.  From  the  moment  the  doctors  told  me 
there  was  no  hope,  I seemed  like  a person  stun- 
ned, incapable  of  showing  any  emotion  at  all,  and 
feeling  only  a kind  of  stupid  despair,  which  I have 
known  only  too  well  since.  I could  only  stand  by 
the  side  of  her  couch,  and  look  at  her — that  was 
all.  When  she  beckoned  me  nearer,  I felt  my 
forced  calmness  giving  way ; but  I dared  not  sob 
or  shed  a tear,  or  I knew  I should  be  sent  away. 
I put  my  hand  in  hers,  and  she  tried  to  press  it ; 
but,  O so  feebly  ! Then  she  whispered,  ‘ My  poor 
Walter : I am  afraid  for  you.’  And  well  she  might 
be,  dear  mamma,  though  I hardly  understood  it 
then.  ‘ Comfort  papa,’  she  whispered,  a few  min- 
utes afterwards ; and  then  she  never  spoke  again. 
A little  while  afterwards  she  died ; but  her  last 
look  was  at  me.  I don’t  remember  anything  else 
till  papa  came  back.  A great  black  shadow  hung 
over  every  thing,  and  it  has  never  been  quite  taken 
away.  Of  course  time  has  done  something  to 
deaden  the  first  dreadful  shock,  else  I could  not 
talk  to  you  about  it  as  I do  now ; but  the  shade 
that  darkened  my  life  then  can  never  be  effaced. 


Walter’s  story. 


131 


It  will  dull  every  thing  till  the  grave — and  then 
perhaps  I shall  find  peace.” 

Georgie  burst  into  tears.  “No,  Walter,  dear, 
you  won’t,  till  you  are  reconciled  with  God, 
Death  can’t  give  you  rest  till  Christ  is  your  friend ; 
and,  if  he  was,  why  the  shadow  would  be  taken 
away  at  once,  and  you  might  have  happiness  and 
peace  and  joy  even  here.  ‘As  one  whom  his 
mother  coniforteth,  so  will  I comfort  you.’  He 
has  said  so  himself.  O,  Walter,  don’t  think  it  un- 
kind in  me  to  say  it  now — for  I feel  so  much  for 
you — but  it  is  better  to  live  here  in  misery  than  to 
die  unprepared.” 

“ Annihilation,  a long,  deep,  unending  slumber, 
is  all  the  death  I believe  in,”  Walter  said,  gloom- 
ily ; “ and  I am  sure  I have  often  longed  for  that.” 

“ Hush,  hush,  Walter !”  Georgie  exclaimed,  “ you 
must  not  talk  so.  You  will  be  sorry  for  every 
word  another  day.  Besides,  I can’t  bear  to  hear  it. 
Not  believe  what  God  says  ! not  believe  the  Bible  !” 
And  she  rose,  and  looked  into  his  face  with  a look 
of  intense  sorrow. 

’‘^You  need  not  mind,  Georgina.  You  are  all 
know,  however  it  is ; and,  if  it  comfort 
me  to  think  as  I do,  why  shouldn’t  I T 

“ Because  it  is  such  miserable  false  comfort,  and 
will  bring  you  to  despair  and  wretchedness  at  last. 
Walter,  what  would  your  poor  mamma  have  said  V 
And  Georgie  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  wept 
again. 


132 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


Mamma ! Ah ! she  was  more  like  you.  If 
any  one  is  safe,  she  is ; but  t^re  must  be  a differ- 
ent  road  for  good,  and  pious,  and  happy  people, 
and  those  who  are  proud  anc^impetu^s  and  unfor- 
tunate as  I am : why,  they  can  have  thoughts 

in  common.” 

“ W alter,  I can  not  argue  with  *you.»  I don’t 
know  how.  I can  only  tell  you  what  the  Bible 
says,  and  beg  you  to  read  it  for  yourself.  I do 
pray  for  you.” 

“ Do  you  ?”  he  said,  looking  up. 

‘‘  Yes,  every  day.  But  that  cannot  do  you  much 
good,”  she  added,  sorrowfully,  “ unless  you  know 
what  it  is  to  pray  for  yourself  too.” 

They  sat  in  perfect  silence  for  some  time, 
Georgie’s  last  words  seeming  to  echo  from  the 
walls  of  the  room  upon  the  hearts  of  each.  Then 
Walter  stood  up.  ‘‘Good-night,  Georgie;  I am 
obliged  to  go  into  the  drawing-room  this  evening. 
There  is  a gentleman  there  who  knows  something 
about  me,  lady  Archdale  said ; and  she  wished  me 
to  see  him ; so  I suppose  I must  go.  I will  tell  you 
about  papa  some  other  time,  if  you  like.” 

“ Yes,  I should.  Only,  Walter,  don’t  give  up 
reading  the  Bible.  Good  night,  and  thank  you  for 
all  you  have  told  me.” 

He  grasped  the  little  hand  firmly,  and  then  went 
up  stairs  to  arrange  his  dress.  Though  it  had  been 
very  painful,  yet  Georgie  felt  thankful  for  that 
night’s  conversation.  She  was  so  glad  to  have 


WALTER^^  STORY. 


133 


been  able  to  speak  faithfully  to  Walter;  she  had 
not  felt  at  all  afraid,  and  she  knew  that  her  strength 
had  conae  from  above.  She  was  so  thankful,  too, 
that  he  had  not  been  angry  or  offended  with  her  ; 
the  hope  of  being,  under  God,  a blessing  to  him 
was  still  strong  in  her  heart ; and  she  prayed  for 
him  that  night  more  earnestly  than  ever. 

Georgina  continued  to  ride  with  her  cousins  most 
afternoons  when  it  was  fine.  Sometimes  Captain 
Forrestc'r,  a friend  of  Lloyd’s,  who  was  staying  at 
Leighton,  for  a time,  accompanied  them,  and  once 
or  twice  Miss  Davenant;  but  she  was  very  deli- 
cate, and  not  able  to  exert  herself  much.  One 
afternoon,  as  they  were  setting  off,  Frances  said  to 
her  brother,  “ It  is  no  use,  Lloyd,  putting  it  off  any 
longer.  Lady  Legh  must  be  called  on  ; so  we  had 
better  go  this  afternoon : it  will  make  us  rather 
later  home ; but  that  can’t  be  helped.” 

Lloyd  glanced  significantly  at  Georgina,  whom 
he  was  just  mounting,  and  who  therefore  did  not 
observe  the  motion. 

“Well, ‘ga  ne  fait  rien.’  Georgie,  you  don’t 
mind  having  rather  a longer  ride,  do  you?  We 
want  to  go  and  make  a call,  which  is  too  far  for  an 
ordinary  drive.” 

“ No,  not  at  all,”  she  answered ; and  the  matter  ' 
was  settled. 

Fern-Hill-side,  the  residence  of  Sir  Henry  Legh, 
a young  knight,  but  lately  married,  was  beautifully 
situated.  The  mansion,  but  recently  rebuilt,  in  a 


134 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


modern  style  of  great  splendor,  was  surrounded  by 
lawns  and  gardens,  laid  out  in  exquisite  taste,  which 
Georgie  could  not  but  admire  as  they  rode  up  the 
broad  gravel  walk.  The  groom  having  inquired, 
and  brought  word  that  they  were  at  home,  Lloyd 
assisted  his  sister  to  dismount.  Then  he  came  to 
Georgie. 

“ I had  rather  stay  and  ride  up  and  down,  if  I 
might she  asked  timidly. 

“Nonsense,”  he  said,  “ What  on  earth  are  you 
thinking  of  ? You  must  get  over  your  shyness,  my 
little  cousin.” 

He  helped  her  from  her  horse.  Georgina 
glanced  for  a moment  at  Frances.  She  was 
standing  at  the  top  of  the  flight  of  steps,  waiting 
for  her ; her  fine  tall  figure,  set  off  to  advantage  by 
her  riding  habit,  was  drawn  up;  and  her  beautiful 
face,  slightly  flushed  by  the  exercise,  looked  more 
handsome  than  ever.  She  was  holding  her  dress 
with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  tapping  impa- 
tiently against  the  pillar  with  her  silver-mounted 
whip.  ‘ What  a beautiful  brother  and  sister  they 
are  1’  Georgie  thought,  as  Lloyd  looked  proudly  on 
his  sister  as  they  entered. 

But,  if  not  with  equal  pride,  yet  with  as  much 
interest,  though  she  knew  it  not,  did  his  eyes  follow 
the  little  delicate  figure,  as,  keeping  close  to  the  side 
of  her  cousin  Frances,  she  entered  with  her  the 
large,  splendid  drawing-room. 

A satisfied  thought  passed  through  his  mind. 


Walter’s  story. 


135 


“I  am  fulfilling  her  brother’s  wishes.  I am 
taking  care  of  her,”  he  said  to  himself.  Lloyd, 
beware  ! ^he  care  that  has  hitherto  been  lavished 
on  her  has  been  of  a wise  and  holy  nature.  She 
has  been  helped  on  in  the  narrow  way ; and  a 
brother’s  prayers  and  supplications  for  her  have 
ever  been  that  her  garments  might  be  kept  un- 
spotted from  the  world.  And  your  inward  thought 
now  is,  is  it  not  ? that  she  may  with  impunity  con- 
tract some  stain — some  slight  one,  you  may  account 
it.  She  is  young,  and  easily  led,  and  timid.  You 
admire  her  consistency  of  life,  and  simple,  childlike 
purity  of  convei'sation  and  thought.  But  it  is  a re- 
proach to  your  conscience,  and  you  would  seek  to 
mar  it  by  a nearer  contamination  with  the  world, 
and  its  vain  show  and  glory.  You  do  not  think 
that  yi|fu  sin  in  doing  so;  you  wish  her  life  to  be 
made  pleasanj,  and  bright,  and  happy  to  her ; but 
it  is  a dangerous  mistake.  The  peace  and  prosper- 
ity of  a soul  is  at  stake  s and,  should  you  succeed 
in  your  endeavors,  and  draw  her  into  the  net  which 
you,  half-unknowingly  to  yourself,  have  prepared 
for  her,  what  bitter  regret  and  tears,  and  agony  of 
self-accusation  may  be  hers  ? 

Lady  Legh  was  all  smiles  and  brilliancy.  She 
chatted  pleasantly  with  Lloyd.  Frances  was  soon 
busily  engaged  with  Flora  Legh,  a young  sister-in- 
law  who  lived  at  Fern-Hill-side,  and  was  a great 
friend  of  the  Archdales.  Sir  Henry  endeavored 
to  entertain  Georgina  by  exhibiting  a very  ex- 


13G 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


tensive  in-door  aquarium,  of  which  he  was  very 
proud. 

I have  succeeded  in  finding  the  propel'  balance,’’' 
he  said.  “This  water  has  not  been  changed  for 
the  last  three  months,  and  will  not  be,  in  all  proba- 
bility, for  six  more ; and  you  see  the  fish  are  per- 
fectly healthy.” 

Georgie  had  not  the  smallest  idea  what  the  bal- 
ance meant,  but  thought  it  must  be  a very  conve- 
nient thing,  as  she  recollected  the  fate  of  various 
poor  gold  and  silver  fish  at  Beechwood,  whose 
water  she  and  Margaret  were  changing  perpetually, 
and  who  had  sickened  and  died  off,  one  by  one,  to 
their  great  sorrow  and  mortification.  She  would 
have  liked  to  inquire  what  he  meant,  but  her  great 
shyness  stood  in  the  wa^nd  prevented  her.  Lloyd 
called  off  her  atteition.*  ^ 

“ May  I take  my  cousin  round  "tie  pic^re-gal- 
lery,  lady  Legh  f’  he  asked.  “ There  are  one  or 
two  paintings  there  I should  like  her  to  see.”, 
Frances  had  oftenijpeen  there  bef9fe,*so'  she  re- 
mained with  the  other  ladies  in'The  drawing-room. 
On  their  return  they  found  her  waiting  for  them, 
and  just  accepting  from  lady  Legh  an  invitation  to 
a large  party  she  was  giving  the  following  week. 

“ Captain  Arehdale,  we  shall  see  you  too,  and 
Mr.  Forrester,  and  your  cousin  here.  My  dear,” 
turning  to  Georgie,  “1  hope  you  liked  the  paint- 
ings : we  think  a great  deal  of  that  Cimabue.” 


TFALTER^S  STORT. 


137 


“ I liked  it  very  much,”  she  answered  ; “ it  has 
been  a great  treat,  seeing  them  all.” 

“ Yes,  this  young  lady  is  quite  a connoisseur  in 
paintings,  if  not  in  aquariums,”  Sir  Henry  re- 
marked, laughing.  Georgina  blushed.  She  had 
felt  a great  interest  in  the  aquarium,  though  she 
had  not  said  so ; and  now  she  was  afraid  her  appa- 
rent  indifference  had  seemed  rude  or  ungrateful. 
She  tried  to  say  so,  but  very  awkwardly,  for  they 
were  all  listening  to  her.  Sir  Henry  held  out  his 
hand  good-humoredly. 

‘‘  W ell,  we  shall  see  you  next  Tuesday  night.  I 
will  not  tease  you  with  molluscs  and  fishes  then. 
You  will  come?” 

‘‘  Thank  you,  I never  go  out  of  an  evening.” 

“Well,  then,  it  is  time  you  should^  begin.  I 
shall  not  excuse  you.” 

Georgina  looked  at  her  cousins  for  support. 

“ I had  rather  not,”  she  said  again. 

“ Nonsense,  I will  take  care  of  you,”  said  Lloyd^ 
“ see  you  don’t  dance  too  much,  or  get  over-heated. 
I am  an  admirable  chaperon.”  The  ladies  laughed. 
Georgie  felt  miserable,  but  could  not  say  another 
word.  They  took  leave,  sir  Henry  accompanying 
them  to  the  door. 

“ Why  does  not  Miss  Archdale  wish  to  come, 
next  week  ?”  he  asked.  “ There  will  be  lots  of 
young  people.” 

“ O,  she  is  rather  strict  in  her  notions,  that  is 
all,”  said  Frances.  “She  does  not  approve  of  danc- 
ing, I believe.” 


138 


THE  BROTHER  S WATCHWORD. 


“ Ah,  ah  r’  he  said,  laughing.  Then  going  up  to 
Georgie,  “I  have  found  out  your  sepet,  young 
lady ; but  I shall  not  let  you  off,  for  all  that.  A 
dance  now  and  then  would  do  you  all  the  good  in 
the  world.  Lloyd,”  he  called  out,  as  they  rode  off, 
I shall  trust  to  your  powers  of  persuasion  and 
Georgina  heard  him  laugh  again  as  he  went  back 
into  the  house. 

She  felt  that  she  must  speak  at  once,  trying  as  it 
was  to  her.  Besides  being  particularly  distasteful 
to  her,  she  knew  that,  if  she  once  gave  in,  once 
joined  a party  of  the  description  of  lady  Legh’s,  it 
would  be  expected  from  her  in  future.  The  line 
once  crossed,  it  would  be  impossible  to  know  where 
or  how  to  stop.  She  was  so  thankful  now  to  have 
no  desires  that  way,  she  so  dreaded  the  thought  of  its 
ever  becoming  tasteful  to  her.  She  knew  that 
there  was  a meaning  in  those  words : “If  any  man 
is  a friend  of  the  world,  he  is  an  enemy  of  God.” 
Be  not  conformed  to  this  world “ Pass  the  time 
of  your  sojourning  here  in  fear and  many  other 
passages  which  came  into  her  mind,  even  then. 
And  her  brother’s  farewell  motto,  “Seeing  him 
who  is  invisible,”  came  forcibly  into  her  mind. 
Could  she  bear  the  thought  of  being  looked  upon 
by  Him,  when  in  a scene  of  dissipation  and  gaiety, 
where  he  was  far  from  the  thoughts  of  all,  and 
where  the  sudden  intimation  of  his  appearing  would 
only  beget  gloom  and  horror  and  despair?  She 
gathered  courage  to  speak — 


Walter’s  story. 


189 


Lloyd,  I hope  I shall  not  seem  rude  or  un- 
grateful for  their  kindness ; hut  I cannot  go  to  lady 
Legh’s  party  Tuesday  evening, 

‘‘Nonsense,  Georgie,”  Frances  said,  in  a tone  of 
some  annoyance;  “what  harm  can  it  possibly  do 
you  for  once  ? You  know  we  have  never  wu’shed 
you  to  come  out  much;  but,  when  people  ask  you 
in  this  way,  you  really  must  not  be  so  absurd.  As 
though  there  was  any  har  m in  a dance !” 

“O  leave  it  to  me,^’  said  Lloyd;  “ I am  sure  she 
will  not  be  so  unkind  as  to  refuse  me  when  I par- 
ticularly wish  it,  leaving  my  promise  out  of  the 
question.” 

Georgie  thought  it  best  not  to  say  anything 
more  just  then  ; she  would  be  able  to  speak  better 
to  Lloyd  when  Frances  was  not  present,  and  she 
would  take  the  opportunity  the  next  day,  at  her 
drawing- lesson.  She  rode  home  the  rest  of  the  way 
in  silence,  but  feeling  perplexed  and  uncomfortable. 

They  reached  Leighton  quite  late,  Frances  has- 
tened to  dress  for  dinner.  Georgie  v/ent  into  the 
school- room,  where  she  received  a reprimand  from 
Mdlle.  Victoire  for  having  been  so  long  out.  She 
did  not  attempt  to  justify  herself,  but  sat  down  to 
her  lessons,  and  studied  busily  till  tea-time. 

“ And  so,  you  have’been  to  lady  Legh’s  this  after- 
noon,” Augusta  began,  as  they  were  seated  at  the 
tea-table,  “and  we  are  all  invited  there  for  next 
Tuesday  ! I am  so  glad ; it  is  an  age  since  I have 
been  out  ; and  their  parties  are  always  so  splendid. 


140 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


Last  time  we  were  not  home  till  nearly  three 
o’clock.  I danced  twice  with  sir  Henry ; he  makes 
much  of  Frances  and  me.  Did  he  inqutre  for  me, 
Georgie?  Frances  wouldn’t  tell  me.” 

“Yes,  I think  he  sent  his  love  to  you,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind.’’ 

Augusta  laughed.  “ There,  I knew  he  would.  O 
mademoiselle,  you  should  see  him  ; he  is  the  most 
delightful  man,  so  handsome  and  agreeable.  But 
you  will,  Tuesday  evening ; Georgie  and  I shall 
want  a chaperon.  Frances  never  looks  after  one 
the  least ; so  different  from  Clara !” 

“ What ! is  Georgina  going 
“ Yes,  I suppose  so  : she  was  asked.” 

“ Are  you.  Miss  Archdale  T” 

“ No,”  Georgie  replied  very  decidedly. 

“ Well,  you  will  be  very  rude,  and  very  foolish 
if  you  don’t,  that’s  all.  Frances  said  sir  Henry 
asked  you  particularly ; and  he  ’ll  not  soon  forget 
it,  if  you  refuse  him.” 

“Some  people  like  to  be  thought  particular,” 
mademoiselle  remarked  in  French,  and  the  subject 
dropped. 

Georgie  had  a trying  battle  with  her  cousin  the 
next  morning  ; but  in  the  end  she  came  off  victori- 
ously. First,  he  laughed  at  her  scruples ; that  was 
very  trying  to  bear.  Then  he  worked  upon  her  re- 
gard for  him  ; he  was  willing  to  oblige  her  in  any 
way  ; and  would  she  not  for  one  night  consent  to 
gratify  his  wishes  1 That  was.  harder  still  for  the 


WALTER^S  STORY. 


141 


poor  child  to  resist ; but  she  did.  Then  he  spoke 
scornfully  and  almost  angrily.  What  right  had  a 
girl  like  her  to  set  up  her  opinion  above  those  who 
were  older  and  wiser  ? It  was  nothing  but  puritan- 
ical weakness  which  she  ought  to  overcome,  and 
just  as  good  as  telling  them  they  were  a set  of 
wicked  sinners  together.  There  was  certainly  no 
great  virtue  in  such  absurd  scruples- 

Still  there  was  silence ; but  a big  tear-drop  fell 
upon  the  picture  she  was  drawing,  from  underneath 
the  bent  eyelids  of  the  steadfast  young  girl.  Lloyd 
was  ashamed  of  himself. 

“ Georgie ! what ! crying  ? Have  I hurt  your 
mind  ? Is  it  really  so  serious  a matter  as  ail  that 
She  took  her  handkerchief  and  dashed  it  away, 
and  others  that  were  gathering  in  her  eyes  as  well. 

“ Forgive  me,  Lloyd.  I don’t  mean  to  be  un- 
grateful. It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  wish  to  please 
me;  and  I am  so  sorry.” 

“ Ah  ! w'ell,  I yield  this  time  ; but  another  day, 
Georgie,  I shall  expect  you  to  give  in.  Eh?” 

Georgie  smiled  gratefully  through  her  tears,  and 
was  too  thankful  for  the  present  release  to  look  for- 
ward to  a future  day.  Besides  which,  she  remem- 
bered the  words,  “ As  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be.” 
Nothing  more  was  said  to  her  on  the  subject  by 
any  of  her  cousins.  On  the  appointed  evening,  as 
she  and  Walter  were  sitting  together  in  the  library 
at  rather  a later  tea  than  usual,  Lloyd  entered,  wdth 
a disastrous  crack  in  his  white  kid  glove. 


142 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ Here,  Georgie,  help  me  out  of  my  trouble,  I 
beg  of  you — not  another  pair  at  hand,  and  this 
great  hole !” 

She  fetched  her  needle  and  thread  instantly,  and 
soon  neatly  repaired  the  fracture.  He  stood  watch- 
ing her,  as  her  small  fingers  moved  busily.  She 
looked  so  pure  and  innocent  in  her  clean  white 
dress  ; and  the  strong  light  from  the  gas-burner  fell 
on  her  light  curls,  which  hung  about  her  neck,  giving 
them  a sort  of  radiance,  such  as  he  had  seen  abroad 
in  glowing  pictures  of  the  Madonna,  with  the  crown 
of  brightness  encircling  her  brows.  Her  figure 
seemed  but  the  expression  of  what  there  was  within 
— ^peace  and  trust. 

‘‘  You  don’t  seem  uncomfortable  here,”  he  said, 
when  she  had  finished  the  last  stitch,  and  gave  it 
back  into  his  hand  with  a smile.  “ And  here  you 
are,  sending  me  off  to  look  foolish — ’ 

“ You  can’t,  very  well,”  she  replied.  “ Shall  I 
fasten  your  glove  f’  she  added,  as  he  fidgeted  at 
the  button. 

(“  Lloyd,  Lloyd !”  called  Augusta  from  the  hall ; 
“we  are  all  waiting  for  you.”) 

“ Yes,  if  you  will.” 

“ Had  you  better  put  them  on  at  all,  just  yet? 
You  have  a long  way  to  drive.” 

“Ah!  I forgot.  Well  done.  Miss  Prudence. 
How  those  girls  do  scream  ! Walter,  aren’t  you 
coming  ?” 

W^alter  glanced  at  his  dress,  but  deigned  no  reply. 


Walter’s  story. 


143 


Good  night,  little  Georgie,  and  take  care  of 
yourself.” 

Then  he  left  the  room,  humming  carelessly — 

“ And  I would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me.” 

That  evening  lady  Archdale  informed  Georgina 
that  all  the  family  were  going  to  London  in  a fort- 
night’s time. 


IX. 


UNSMSFYIK6  PLSiLSURES. 


“Mark  that  lon^  dark  line  of  shadows, 
Stretching  far  into  the  past ; 

Every  day  it  seems  to  lengthen— 
Whither  doth  it  tend  at  last? 

Each  one  added  to  the  hosts 
From  the  present  moment  flies: 
These  are  time’s  forgotten  ghosts, 
Fleeted  opportunities,” 


fT  was  a beautiful  night  in  the  early  part  of 
May.  A carriage  was  waiting  before  the 
door  of  a large  mansion  in  Belgravia,  in  the 
upper  windows  of  which  many  lights  were  burnifig. 
But  by-and-by  they  disappeared,  and  the  various 
occupants  emerged  from  their  several  rooms.  They 
met  in  the  hall,  which  was  also  brilliantly  lighted. 

Sir  William  Archdale  was  waiting  there,  and 
Lloyd  in  his  full  uniform.  Sir  William  handed  his 
two  daughters  into  the  carriage  waiting  before  the 
door ; and  then,  a little  behind,  came  a pretty 
graceful  figure.  Could  it  possibly  be  Georgie? 
Yes,  it  was.  She  was  dressed  in  a silk  of  the  most 
delicate  blue : a wreath  of  forget-me-nots  was 
twined  in  her  fair  hair  ; and  her  usually  pale  cheeks 
were  suffused  with  a delicate  color.  Lloyd  looked 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


145 


down  upon  her  triumphantly  as  she  entered  the 
carriage,  and  remarked  to  his  father  in  a tone  she 
could  not  possibly  avoid  hearing,  “ As  handsome 
as  any  of  them,  when  she  is  properly  dressed.” 
Sir  William  assented,  told  Lloyd,  as  he  jumped  in 
after  them,  to  send  back  the  carriage  to  take  him 
to  his  club  ; and  the  door  closed. 

The  carriage  drove  to  the  Royal  Italian  Opera. 
It  was  a gay  and  brilliant  scene : the  music,  the 
singing,  the  dancing — all  w^as  perfect.  But  one 
aching  heart  at  least  beat  there:  Yes,  under  that 

calm,  peaceful,  constant  face,  Georgina  Archdale 
w^as  miserable.  Her  cousins  were  all  smiles  and 
gaiety;  and  she  smiled  too  sometimes,  but  it  w^as 
not  the  expression  of  her  heart.  They  were  in 
lady  Legh’s  box  ; and  sir  Henry  and  his  brother 
and. sister  were  there.  He  talked  and  laughed  with 
Georgina,  congratulating  her  on  seeing  her  face 
there,  wdiere  he  had  so  little  expected.  Every 
wmrd  w^as  like  a sword  in  Georgie’s  breast.  Lloyd 
came  and  spoke  gently  to  her,  pointing  out  a part 
in  the  programme  of  peculiar  beauty,  and  telling 
her  the  names  of  the  principal  artists.  She  did 
not  hear  him ; or,  if  heard,  the  words  came  un- 
heeded. O for  the  long  weary  hours  to  be  passed ! 

But  how  came  she  there,  when  her  heart  w^as  so 
little  in  it,  and  every  minute  so  heavy  and  tire- 
some that  it  seemed  as  an  hour  ? 

The  time  had  come,  as  Lloyd  had  expressed  it, 
she  must  give  in.  She  had  made  a long  resistance, 
13 


146 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


pleaded  her  distaste  and  Leonard’s  disapprobation, 
and  every  argument  she  could  make  use  of;  but 
all  to  no  avail.  Her  fear  of  vexing  and  displeasing 
Lloyd  had  been  stronger  than  her  powers  of  re- 
sistance ; and,  though  she  was  doing  wrong,  and 
violating  her  conscience  each  time,  this  was  not  the 
first,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third,  that  she  had 
come  into  scenes  where  her  heart  told  her  she 
would  not  dare  to  meet  the  face  of  her  brother,  far 
less  the  eye  of  her  grieved,  but  still  loving,  Hea- 
venly Father. 

The  only  pleasurable  result  arising  from  this  re- 
peated violation  of  her  principles — for  her  heart 
was  as  far  from  these  scenes  as  ever — was  the  sense 
of  her  cousin’s  aj)proval  and  satisfaction.  He  had 
so  laid  himself  out  to  please  her,  during  their  stay 
in  London,  giving  up  all  the  time  he  could  spare 
from  his  duties  with  his  regiment,  to  show  her 
sights— galleries  of  paintings,  mu3euras,jand  all 
that  he  thought  would  interest  her ; but  he  required 
in  return  that  she  should  give  up  her  will  on  the 
subject  which  lay  so  deeply  in  her  heart,  and  oblige 
him  by  going  whither  she  knew  she  ought  not. 
And  was  she  happy  ? Ah,  no  ! far  fi  om  it.  Her 
quiet  times  were  no  longer  happy  seasons.  She 
observed  them  as  carefully  and  strictly  as  before ; 
but  the  reading  of  the  Scripture  and  prayer  brought 
no  peace  nor  comfort  to  her  mind.  She  was  walk- 
ing contrary  to  God  on  a point  of  deep  and  serious 
import ; and  how  could  she  expect  his  blessing  % 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES, 


147 


She  had  held  out  a long  time,  resisting  her  cou- 
sin’s arguments  and  persuasions  very  steadily,  till 
on  one  occasion,  when  he  assumed  a very  injured 
and  oirended  manner,  and  ended  by  saying  that  she 
could  not  have  much  regard  to  her  brother’s  wishes 
and  last  words,  he  having  given  her  specially  into 
his  charge.  “ I may  have  performed  his  request 
very  imperfectly,  I know,”  Lloyd  had  said ; “ but 
still  I have  done  so,  as  far  as  was  in  me ; and  I 
don’t  fancy  he  would  consider  it  a very  gracious  re- 
turn for  you  to  make,  refusing  to  gratify  me  for 
once  in  a thing  which  cannot  hurt  you  in  the  least. 
If  Leonard  had  not  some  species  of  confidence  in 
me,  he  would  not  have  spoken  as  he  did.” 

Georgie’s  face  had  kindled  as  her  cousin  thus  bit- 
terly addressed  her : varied  emotions  contended  in 
her  breast.  Ungrateful!  O she  could  not  endure 
such  an^  insinuation.  She  grew  very  pale ; then, 
looking  do ^11  upon  the  floor,  she  said  quietly,  “ I 
will  go  with  you,  Lloyd.” 

Llis  han'Ssome  features,  which  were  clouded  be- 
fore, brightened  instantly  : he  felt  that  the  victory 
was  gained,  little  troubling  himself  at  what  a cost, 
and  he  thanked  her  repeatedly. 

Now  I must  l>e  off,”  he  said,  taking  out  his 
watch.  The  men  exercise  in  the  park  this  morn- 
ing ; and  I am  on  duty.  To-morrow  I shall  be  free, 
and  we  will  go,  before  luncheon,  to  the  Royal 
Academy  again.  Good  bye,  Constance.  I am 
quite  proud  to  think  how  amiable  you  have  been. 


148 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


Depend  upon  it,  no  one  will  think  the  worse  of  you 
for  giving  up  your  own  will  occasionally.” 

“ O don’t,”  said  Georgina,  in  a tone  almost  of 
pain,  as  she  turned  away. 

She  w'atched  him  from  the  window  as  he  walked 
down  the  square,  his  fine  figure  drawm  up,^  and  tow^- 
ering  above  the  other  passers-by.  “ Constance !” 
she  murmured  to  herself,  as  he  disappeared  from 
sight.  “ O,  I do  not  deserve  such  a name  ! I have 
not  been  constant.  I have  not  held  on  faith  fully. 
But  how  could  I help  it  ? O Leonard,  Leonard  !” 
She  went  into  her  own  room,  and  wept  long  and 
bitterly.  A call  from  Augusta  to  prepare  for  a 
drive  aroused  her  at  last : she  w^ashed  her  face  and 
eyes  ; and,  by  the  time  she  was  dressed,  her  coun- 
tenance was  as  tranquil  and  composed  as  ever.  In 
the  evening  she  found  lying  on  a table  in  her  room, 
directed  to  her,  a small  round,  box.  It  contained 
an  elegant  wreath  of  forget-me-nots  and  a slip  of 
paper  in  Lloyd  s hand-writing,  asking  her  to  wear 
them  on  the  following  evening,  and  one'  of  her  pure 
white  dresses  that  he  liked  so  much. 

Georgina  looked  at  the  flowers,  then  at  the  note, 
read  the  latter  two  or  three  times,  then  slowly  tore 
it  u]D  and  flung  it  on  the  fire,  watching  the  pieces  as 
they  consumed  rapidly  in  the  blaze.  Then  she 
closed  the  box^  placing  it  in  her  ’wardrobe,  with  a 
sigh.  “ My  heart  shrinks  from  it,”  she  said,  “ O 
may  I be  forgiven !”  After  the  ice  had  once  been 
broken,  it  became,  as  Georgie  had  feared,  an  ex- 


ITNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


149 


pected  ih’mg  for  her  to  go  out,  at  least  to  such  par- 
ties as  she  was  invited  to ; but  the  evening  to  which 
at  the  commencement  of  the  chapter  I have  referred 
was  the  first  on  which  she  had  visited  the  Opera. 

She  had  a secret  dread  of  the  very  name ; but 
Lloyd  had  silenced  her  scruples,  and  assured  her 
that,  if  she  found  anythingshe  objected  to,  he  would 
not  ask  her  to  go  again  ; but  just  once  she  must  go, 
and  judge  for  herself,  the  singing  was  so  glorious. 
He  went  out  with  Frances,  and  himself  chose  the 
light  delicate  dress.  It  suited  her  fair  white  com- 
plexion ; and  he  was  proud  as  he  looked  upon  her. 

But  he  saw  that  she  was  not  happy,  that  the  an- 
swers she  returned  to  his  questions,  and  appeals  to 
her  taste  for  admiration,  were  such  as  showed  her 
heart  was  far  away.  And  truly  indeed  it  was  ! For 
even  there,  in  the  midst  of  that  gay  assembly,  the 
gleamin^^ghts,  and  the  thrilling  captivating  music, 
her  brother’s  yvatcli word  came  into  her  mind,  and 
wounded  her  very  soul  as  with  an  arrow : “ Seeing 
him  who’'  is  Invisible.”  O was  this  the  time  and 
this  the  place  to  realize  the  scrutinizing  presence  of 
that  omniscient  One,  to  rejoice  in  that  presence, 
and  to  expect  peace  and  blessing  from  it  ? Invisi- 
ble to  the  natural  eye,  he  was  at  that  very  moment 
watching  her : what  if  he  should  send  the  summons 
to  meet  him ! The  bitter  anguish  of  the  thought 
was  insupportable,  and  she  grew  pale.  Lloyd 
marked  it,  and  inquired  if  she  were  feeling  unwell. 

No,  not  that ; but,  O Lloyd,  do  let  me  go 


150 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


away  from  here,  I am  50  miserable.  Let  me  go 
alone — in  a cab,’'  she  urged,  but  in  a low  tone,  that 
she  might  not  excite  notice. 

‘‘  My  dear  Georgie,  it  is  impossible  : wait,  at 
least,  till  we  go ; there  is  but  another  hour.” 

“ I have  done  wrong  in  coming,  Lloyd.  O,  could 
you  not  take  me  out 

No,  the  thing  was  unreasonable  ; she  must  wait 
for  the  carriage,  unless  indeed  she  felt  too  ill  to  stay. 
At  that  moment  there  was  a little  stir  in  the  box, 
and  an  attendant  put  a note  into  Lloyd’s  hand.  A 
sense  of  impending  trouble  came  over  Georgina; 
her  cousins  were  engrossed  with  the  music  and  sir 
Henry ; s/ie  only  watched  Lloyd’s  countenance  as 
he  read.  His  first  look  was  at  her  ; and  there  was 
that  in  his  face  that  she  had  never  seen  there  be- 
fore. She  started.  He  raised  his  fingej^.warningly, 
then  approached  Frances,  and  said,  ‘‘  Georgie  is 
feeling  unwell ; and  I am  going  hom(^\^ith  her.'^Sir 
Henry  will  see  you  to  the  carriage.” 

“ Georgie  ill,  poor  child  !”  said  !^anfes,  as.  she 
turned  and  saw  her  pale  face.  “ Yes,  do  .•  go, 
Lloyd.” 

They  left  the  box  together.  In  the  lobby  he  put 
the  note  into  her  hands,  that  she  might  read  it  from 
the  light  of  the  gas  burner  overhead.  “ I fear  lady 
Archdale  is  dying.  I have  sent  for  sir  William; 
but  he  has  not  yet  come  in.  Could  you  return  at 
once  f ’ These  were  all  the  words  that  Georgie 
could  read ; and  even  these  swam  before  her  eyesj 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


151 


and  she  had  to  lean  against  the  wall  for  sup- 
port. 

The  note  was  signed  by  the  family  physician  in 
London. 

‘‘  Now,  Georgie,  this  is  dreadful,”  Lloyd  said. 
“ Can  you  be  calm  f ’ 

“Yes,”  she  murmured;  “but  Francie  and  Au- 
gusta 

“ They  will  know  it  soon  enough.  It  is  no  use 
calling  them  away  now.”  He  flung  his  military 
cloak  around  her  as  he  spoke,  for  she  was  shivering, 
and  then  led  her  to  the  carriage.  It  was  a silent 
agonizing  drive.  Georgie  could  not  weep,  not  even 
shed  one  tear ; but  her  heart  beat  violently  as  they 
drov^  almost  furiously  into  the  square.  Her  cou- 
sin whispered,  as  he  handed  her  out,  “I  am  sorry 
you  w^nt  to  night  against  your  will,  Georgie.  You 
will  htW^o  help  us  all  now.” 

TI19  hoy^ewas  in  great  excitement.  Sir  William 
was  n5t  yet  returned  ; and  lady  Archdale  still  con- 
tinued insensible.  Georgie,  with  a breaking  heart, 
hasteneJ'to  her  room;  but  the  physician,  with  a 
grave  look,  requested  that  none  but  sir  William 
might  enter  until  the  crisis  should  be  past.  “ Ah, 
if  I had  been  at  my  post,  I should  not  have  been 
sent  away,”  she  thought  bitterly,  as  she  returned  to 
the  drawing-room.  Lloyd  went  in  search  of  his 
father,  and  presently  returned  with  him,  then  went 
out  again  on  a message  from  the  physician  to  a 
friend. 


152  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

An  hour  after,  thfe  sisters  came  in.  They  were 
surprised  to  find  Georgie  dressed,  and  sitting  up. 
She  told  them,  as  calmly  and  firmly  as  she  was 
able,  of  their  mother’s  danger,  and  begged  them, 
as  Lloyd  had  desired  her,  not  to  sit  up,  as  none  but 
those  in  immediate  attendance  could  be  of  use. 
Then  she  retired  to  her  own  chamber ; but  not  to 
rest.  It  was  a night  never  to  be  forgotten  by  her. 
On  bended  knees  she  returned  to  her  Heavenly 
Father,  and,  with  his  help,  made  a solemn  resolve 
never  again  to  be  led  aside  from  the  plain  path  of 
known  duty  into  the  false  allurements  of  the  worid, 
either  to  please  herself  or  another.  She  entreated 
pardon,  with  many  tears  for  the  uneven  path  she 
had  of  late  trodden,  and  grace  to  keep  unspotted 
from  the  daily  soil  of  this  world’s  contaminating 
influence  the  garments  washed  clean  by  the  precious 
blood  of  the  cross.  And  with  great  earnestness 
she  prayed  for  her  beloved  aunt,  th^,  ifjfthrist’s 
will,  she  might  be  spared  to  them  yet  a little  longer. 
And  when  she  arose  from  her  knees  she  sought  her 
Bible,  and,  in  studying  its  precious  words,  she  found 
more  consolation  and  happiness  to  her  soul  than  for 
many  a past  week. 

And  so  the  time  passed,  until  three  o’clock  in  the 
morning.  The  house  had  seemed  very  quiet  for 
some  time  ; she  longed  to  know  tidings  from  her 
aunt’s  room,  and  for  that  purpose  stole  quietly 
along  the  passage,  until  she  arrived  at  the  outside 
door.  She  did  not  knock,  fearing  the  worst,  but 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


153 


stood  there  silently  and  with  clasped  hand^,  waiting 
till  a servant  might  appear.  At  length  the  door 
opened  gently,  and  the  physician  came  out  followed 
by  Lloyd.  Both  started  on  seeing  the  little  figure 
standing  so  motionless  on  the  landing.  She  had 
not  changed  her  evening  dress  : her  cheeks  were 
very  pale,  and  her  eyes  looked  strained  and  weary. 
She  looked  into  the  doctor’s  face,  and  from  it  gath- 
ered strength  to  ask  how  was  her  aunt. 

Better,”  he  replied  : “the  crisis  is  passed ; and 
I am  going  to  leave  her  for  a time.  And  for  your- 
self, young  lady,”  he  added,  “ 1 think  the  best  place 
would  be  bed.” 

“ Georgie,  you  should  not  have  been  sitting  up,” 
Lloyd  said,  “ you  know  I told  you — ” 

“ Is  this  Georgie  ?”  inquired  the  physician,  who 
was  just  then  turning  away.  “ Lady  Archdale  has 
been  s^^king  of  Georgie : she  seemed  to  have  been 
expecting  y.qii,”  and  he  glanced  at  her  full  dress. 
She  understood  the  meaning  of  that  look  ; and  tears 
gathered'm^er  eyes. 

“ I may  go  to  her  in  the  morning,  may  I not 
she  added. 

“Yes,  if  you  go  to  bed  now,  and  wake  up  to- 
morrow, looking  a little  less  spirit-like,”  he  said, 
laughing:  “Your  white  face  actually  frightened  me 
just  now.” 

Georgie  thanked  him  and  retreated. 

“ Is  that  your  sister,  captain  Archdale  ?”  inquired 
the  physician,  as  he  went  down-stairs. 


154 


THE  BROTHEK  S WATCHWORD. 


‘‘  No,  a cousin,”  Lloyd  replied. 

“ You  must  be  careful  of  her : she  is  not  fit  for 
much  night-work ; so  don’t  encourage  her  in  it.” 
Lloyd’s  conscience  twinged  him  rather  unpleas- 
antly. ‘‘It  is  the  rarest  thing  for  her  to  go  out  of 
an  evening,”  he  replied : “ she  has  been  so  excited 
and  alarmed  to-night : that  makes  her  paler  than 
usual.  You  don’t  think  she  looks  seriously  ill 
“ O dear,  no : only  be  a little  careful,  that’s  all.” 
Lady  Archdale  slowly  recovered;  and  Georgie 
was  a most  assiduous  little  nurse.  She  sat  with 
her  as  much  as  she  was  allowed,  bringing  her  work 
and  books  into  her  room,  and  reading  or  sitting 
quietly  there,  just  as  her  aunt  was  most  disposed. 

She  received  about  this  time  a long  letter  from 
her  brother,  who,  owing  to  some  lengthened  delays 
at  the  Cape,  had  but  just  arrived  in  India.  He  told 
her  that,  should  all  be  well,  his  stay  in  the  country 
might  not  exceed  three  or  four  months ; so  that, 
quite  at  the  end  of  the  autumn,  it  was  possible  that 
under  God’s  blessing,  they  might  meet  again.  He 
had  received  all  her  letters,  which  he  acknowledged 
with  so  much  pleasure  that  Georgie  smiled  and 
wept  by  turns.  “ And  how  prospers  the  inner  life, 
my  darling  sister,  among  much  that  is  outwardly 
more  diverting  and  entangling  than  you  have 
knowm  before?  Well,  I trust,  from  what  you 
write.  Keep  near  to  him  who  is  invisible : let  not 
your  love  for  me — w^hich  is  yet  so  precious  that  I 
would  not  wish  it  one  iota  less — or  for  any  other 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


155 


earthly  object  or  pursuit,  draw  off  your  eye  from 
the  Saviour.  You  know  already  the  words  of  St. 
Augustine : ‘ He  loveth  too  little  who  loves  any- 
thing beside  thee,  except  he  love  it  for  thy  sake.’ 
Seek  always  to  feel  this,  that  every  other  aim  and 
interest  and  affection  be  subservient  to  the  great 
absorbing  one — love  to  Christ,  and  to  the  Father 
through  him.  We  are  only  happy  so  long  as  w^e 
realize  this  : when  the  world  once  creeps  in,  and 
gets  the  upper  hand,  our  peace  and  comfort  from 
that  very  hour  decline,  prayer  becomes  dead  and 
unprofitable,  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  a weari- 
some and  irksome  duty,  instead  of  a delight  and  a 
blessing.  And  so,  dear  Georgie,  I pray  that  you 
may  be  kept  in  the  sunshine  of  conscious  nearness 
to  him  who  is  the  centre  of  all  life  and  peace  and 
happiness,  that,  crucifying  daily  the  flesh  with  its 
affections  and  lusts,  you  may  be  each  day  more 
prepared  for  the  eternity  which  we  hope  to  spend 
together  in  his  presence.” 

Georgie  'knew  by  experience  the  truth  of  her 
brother’s  words : her  tears  flowed  afresh  as  she 
read  them  that  night  in  her  room ; and,  though  she 
felt  assured  that  her  past  wanderings  had  been  for- 
given, yet  it  made  her  only  the  more  conscious  of 
her  great  weakness,  and  earnest  in  prayer  for  grace 
to  withstand  all  such  entanglements  in  future. 

As  soon  as  Lady  Archdale  was  sufficiently  re- 
covered to  be  removed,  the  flimily  left  London ; 
and  all  again  returned  to  Leighton,  with  the  excep- 


156 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


tion  of  Lloyd,  whose  duties  with  his  regiment  re- 
quired his  presence  in  town. 

Since  the  night  of  his  mother’s  alarming  illness 
he  had  been  very  watchful  over  his  cousin,  ceasing 
every  endeavor  to  persuade  her  to  go  where  she 
knew  she  could  not,  with  comfort  to  herself,  but 
making  her  daily  rides  or  drives  very  pleasant,  by 
visiting  various  scenes  of  interest  quite  new  to 
Georgie,  and  where  instruction  as  well  as  entertain- 
ment could  be  gathered.  Of  an  evening  he  was 
never  at  home.  The  sisters  returned  to  their  usual 
gay  life  as  soon  as  their  mamma  was  considered 
out  of  danger ; and  Lloyd  was  their  constant  at- 
tendant. But  often  before  setting  out  he  would 
bring  to  her  in  the  drawing-room,  or  in  his  mother’s 
room,  where  Georgina  spent  much  of  her  time,  a 
portfolio  of  drawings,  or  some  new  and  beautiful 
book,  which  he  thought  might  amuse  her ; and  she 
often  wmndered  how  it  was  he  knew  so  well  just 
what  she  liked,  or  found  the  time  and  opportunity 
to  procure  it. 

But  one  thing  in  reference  to  Lloyd  weighed 
heavily  on  Georgina’s  mind,  and  the  more  so  be- 
cause she  longed  to  speak  to  him  of  it,  and  yet 
dared  not.  Lloyd  was  frequently  in  the  habit  of 
taking  the  name  of  God  in  vain — ^not  often  before 
her  or  his  mother,  but  when  in  the  company  of  other 
gentlemen,  or  when  angry,  or  in  conversation  with 
those  beneath  him  in  station.  She  longed  for  cour- 
age to  ask  him  to  stop,  to  remind  him  that  the  sin 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


157 


which  seemed . small  in  his  eyes  was  as  great  a 
breach  of  the  holy  perfect  law  as  murder,  or  theft, 
or  perjury.  It  always  made  her  start,  and  the 
color  come  to  her  cheek  when  she  heard  the  words 
escape  his  lips;  and  sometimes  she  said,  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  perplexity,  “Am  I right  in  liking 
so  well  one  who  from  day  to  day  sins  so  directly 
against  a plain  comrnand  of  God 

But  then  she  looked  into  her  own  heart,  and  saw 
so  much  that  seemed  even  worse  there,  that  she 
was  ashamed  of  the  thought.  “ He  does  it  without 
considering  its  guilt,  and  he  has  had  no  one  to  warn 
him.  This  surely  is  a case  in  which  I should  not 
do  wrong  to  speak,  should  God  give  me  the  cour- 
age.” So  she  thought  to  herself,  and  at  the  same 
time  laid  the  matter  before  her  heavenly  Father  in 
prayer. 

The  evening  before  they  left  London  a fair  op- 
portunity presented  itself.  Lloyd  came  into  the 
drawing-room  where  she  was  collecting  some 
books  and  other  things  that  were  to  be  taken  back 
to  Leighton. 

“ Georgie,”  he  said,  “ I have  brought  you  a little 
souvenir,  that  you  may  not  quite  forget  my  exist- 
ence between  this  and  August.” 

“Thank  you,  Lloyd;  even  if  I needed  presents 
to  keep  me  from  forgetting  you,  there  is  not  much 
cause  for  fear : that  beautiful  box  of  colors,  the 
locket  with  Leonard’s  hair,  my  ‘ Lives  of  the 
Painters,’  that  exquisite  statuette  of — ” 


158  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

“My  dear  Constance,  pray  stop : you  know 
young  ladies’  memories  are  apt  to  be  treacherous; 
but  see,  I have  consulted  your  taste  this  time,  and 
have  brought  you  a good  book.  You  are  fond  of 
all  kinds  of  old-fashioned,  outlandish,  mystified  di- 
vines: do  you  know  old  Thomas-a-Kempis 

“ Ah,  yes,  Leonard  has  one.  But,  O Lloyd,  how 
beautiful  1 what  a magnificent  copy ! You  surely 
do  not  intend  it  for  me 

“ Do  you  like  it  ? See,  it  is  all  got  up  in  the  old 
way — illuminated,  and  what  not.” 

“ It  is  splendid.  I shall  value  it  very  much,  and 
read  it  too.”  And  she  turned  over  the  leaves  slow- 
ly, and  with  intense  pleasure. 

Lloyd  watched  her  complacently : he  always 
liked  to  see  her  thoroughly  pleased.  “ What  are 
you  reading  V'  he  asked  at  last,  as  she  lingered  over 
a page  longer  than  merely  admiring  the  beautiful 
illuminated  capitals.  She  pointed  rather  mildly  to 
the  passage  which  had  caught  her  attention : “ If 
thou  seek  rest  in  this  life,  how  wilt  thou  then  attain 
to  the  everlasting  rest?  Dispose  not  thyself  for 
much  rest,  but  for  great  patience.  Seek  true 
peace  not  in  earth,  but  in  heaven ; not  in  men  nor 
any  other  creature,  but  in  God  alone.  For  the 
love  of  God  thou  oughtest  cheerfully  to  undergo  all 
things — that  is  to  say,  all  labor,  grief,  temptation, 
vexation,  anxiety,  necessity,  injury,  reproof,  humili- 
ation, and  correction  of  every  kind  and  degree.” 

“ You  intend  that  for  me,  I suppose  ?”  Lloyd  said. 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


159 


when  he  had  read  it.  “ You  are  decidedly  disposed 
to  great  patience,  and  would,  I believe,  endure  that 
long  list  of  calamities  in  the  most  magnanimous 
way.” 

“ O,  Lloyd,  you  do  not  know  me,  or  you  would 
not  think  so.” 

“ Yes,  I know  you  very  well ; you  are  goodness 
personified — a little  too  good ; that  is  all  the  fault 
I find  with  you.  It  sits  very  well  on  you,  however  ; 
but  this  quietness  and  intense  abnegation  would  not 
suit  me.  I like  to  enjoy  life  thoroughly  now^  while 
I can,  and  it  is  pleasantest,  eh,  Georgie 

Georgina  could  not  smile  in  reply,  as  he  did. 
Some  words  came  into  her  mind — “ Remember 
now  thy  Creator,  in  the  days  of  thy  youth,  while 
the  evil  days  come  not,  nor  the  years  draw  nigh, 
when  thou  shalt  say,  I have  no  pleasure  in  them.” 
Her  heart  beat,  and  the  color  came  into  her  face ; 
she  might  "‘^hoiit  ostentation  make  use  of  this  op- 
portunity, for  a question  had  been  asked  her ; but, 
as  she  feared  and  pondered,  the  occasion  vanished, 

“ Ah,  you  are  too  charitable  to  condemn  me,  I 
see,  plainly,”  said  her  cousin.  Now,  good  night, 
little  Constance : I shall  not  say  good  bye  till  to- 
morrow. I shall  hardly  know  myself  when  you 
are  all  gone.” 

“ Did  you  say  it  would  be  August  before  you 
came  back  to  Leighton  ?”  she  asked,  as  he  left  the 
room. 

“Yes  ; what  were  you  thinking  ofl” 


160 


THE  BROTHER  S WATCHWORD. 


“ Perhaps  Leonard  may  be  home  by  that  time,” 
she  answered  with  a sigh. 

“ Hardly,  I should  think,”  replied  her  cousin ; 
“ but  do  not  distress  yourself : we  will  take  good 
care  of  you and  then  he  added  to  himself,  as  he 
went  down-stairs,  “ I believe  that  child  thinks  of 
nothing  but  Leonard  from  morning  till  night.” 

The  next  day,  about  noon,  found  Georgie  seated 
with  her  aunt  and  her  attendant  in  the  ladies’  com- 
partment of  a railway  carriage,  one  side  of  W’hich 
was  fitted  up  as  a couch,  lady  Archdale  not  being 
equal  to  anything  but  a reclining  posture. 

Carriages  met  them  at  Barnes,  and  early  in  the 
evening  they  arrived  at  Leighton.  It  had  been  an 
exquisite  day ; and  Georgie  had  never  seen  the 
Hall  looking  so  beautiful  before.  The  trees  were 
still  leafless  when  they  left  for  London : now  all 
was  clothed  with  fresh  bright  verdure.  The  slant- 
ing shadows  of  the  elm  and  oak  trees  in  the  park 
lay  softly  on  the  green  turf,  and  the  few  fleecy 
clouds  which  travelled  softly  across  the  blue  sky 
were  reflected  in  the  clear  sheet  of  water  which 
formed  a pleasing  feature  in  the  grounds  of  Leigh- 
ton. 

“ How  lovely  it  all  is !”  Georgie  could  not  re- 
frain from  exclaiming,  as  they  approsTched  the 
house. 

Augusta,  to  whom  the  remark  was  addressed, 
answered  with  a sigh : “ It  is  very  well,  but  noth- 
ing after  London ; it  was  a dreadful  bore  to  be 


UNSATISFYING  PLEASURES. 


161 


obliged  to  come  off  so  soon.  ’Tis  true  the  holidays 
will  soon  be  here,  and  then  the  Elmores  are  com 
ing,  and  we  shall  have  archery  fetes,  and  so  on ; 
but  I hate  the  country,  especially  after  London.” 

“ But  you  know,  mignonne,  the  society  of  Barnes 
is  nearly  equal  to  that  of  London,”  remarked 
Mdlle.  Victoire : “ you  may  be  as  gay  as  you 
please  ; there  is  always  something  going  on.” 

“ That  may  be  ; but,  my  dear  mademoiselle,  you 
must  confess  it  seems  flat  at  first.” 

They  reached  the  house  just  then,  and  the  con- 
versation was  interrupted. 

“ Walter  come  out  to  meet  us,  I declare !”  said 
Augusta  : “ wonders  will  never  end.” 

“ To  meet  Georgina,  I fancy,”  said  the  governess, 
as  Walter  handed  Georgie  out,  and  followed  her 
into  the  hall. 

14^ 


X. 


UHCOITSGIOUS  nTFLUEHCE, 


“ There  are — of  beauty  rare, 

In  holy  calm  up-growintr, 

Of  minds,  whose  richness  might  compare 
E'en  with  thy  deep  tints  glowing; 

Yet  all  unconscious  of  the  grace  they  wear, 

“Like  flowers  upon  thy  spray — 

All  lowliness — not  sadness : 

Bright  are  their  thoughts,  and  rich,  not  gay: 

Grave  in  their  very  gladness ; 

Shedding  calm  summer  light  over  life’s  changeful  day.” 

S.  D. 


FEW  days  after  her  return  to  Leighton 
there  came  to  Georgina  a letter  in  her  cousin 
Lloyd’s  hand-writing.  She  opened,  and  read 
as  follows : “ Dear  little  Constance, — A friend  in 

need  is  a friend  indeed  ; and  now  I am  going  to 
put  your  friendship  to  the  test.  I want  a nice  little 
sketch  of  the  Hall,  done  in  your  very  best  style. 
It  may  be  either  pencil  or  colored,  just  as  you 
please  ; and  now,  as  soon  as  you  have  read  this,  go 
out,  and  reconnoitre  as  to  the  best  point  of  view  to 
take  it  from.  I should  advise  the  end  of  the  far- 
ther terrace  on  the  left  side  of  the  fountain,  close 
to  the  pink  acacia  ; you  there  get  such  a good  view 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


163 


of  the  conservatory  and  my  sanctum.  If  I recol- 
lect rightly,  there  is  a seat  somewhere  in  that  neigh- 
borhood ; and  -you  can  have  the  small  easel  out 
there,  and  work  away  as  well  as  in-doors.  I have 
been  what  you  would  call  dreadfully  dissipated 
since  you  left,  until  last  night,  when  I had  an  even- 
ing of  sober  intellectual  enjoyment,  namely,  in 
hearing  one  of  ‘ R’s  ’ lectures  on  modern  painting. 
He  is  a splendid  fellow.  I could  have  sat  till  mid- 
night listening  to  him.  His  thoughts  are  very  pic- 
tures, bright  and  glowing  and  beautiful.  Even  you 
would  have  enjoyed  it,  little  Georgie  ; and,  if  I 
have  nothing  better  to  do,  I shall  certainly  visit  his 
lecture-room  again.  I take  it  for  granted  that  you 
miss  me  very  much.  I hope,  however,  that  does 
not  prevent  your  going  on  with  your  drawing,  and 
that  you  make  use  of  my  studio  for  the  purpose  as 
much  as  you  please.  There  is  no  room  in  the  house 
like  it  for  good  painting  light.  Write,  and  tell  me 
what  you  do  in  the  drawing  way.  I hope  you  ride 
sometimes  with  Frances  and  papa,  and  that  Leigh- 
ton air  is  getting  up  your  good  looks  again.  In  ad- 
dition to  these  good  wishes,  receive  the  best  love 
of  your  affectionate  cousin,  “ Lloyd.” 

Georgina  was  well  pleased  to  be  able  to  oblige 
Lloyd  in  any  way,  and  immediately  prepared  to 
carry  out  his  wishes..  She  found  the  spot  he  had 
selected  the  very  best  for  the  purpose,  with  Wal- 
ter’s assistance  removed  her  drawing  paraphernalia 


164 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


thither,  and  devoted  all  her  spare  time  to  the  work. 
She  made  two  sketches,  one  in  pencil,  the  other 
colored,  and  despatched  them  both  to  Lloyd,  by 
post,  about  a week  after  the  reception  of  his  letter. 
She  received  by  return  a note  full  of  thanks  and 
praises.  The  gentleman,  he  said,  to  whom  one  of 
them  had  been  presented — an  artist  himself — had 
expressed  his  surprise  and  admiration  at  the  distin- 
guished talent  of  the  fair  young  painter,  and  re- 
gretted beyond  measure  that  he  had  not  had  the 
honor  of  an  introduction  during  her  late  stay  in 
town.  “ But  it  is  possible,”  Lloyd  added,  “ that  he 
may  yet  have  that  pleasure ; as  I ho2^e  some  day  to 
bring  him  down  to  Leighton.” 

Georgie’s  face  flushed  a little  as  she  read  the  flat- 
tering epistle ; but,  Avhen  she  reached  her  room, 
she  tore  it  slowly  into  pieces,  as  on  one  previous 
occasion,  and,  lighting  a taper,  watched  the  remains 
as  they  consumed  quite  away. 

The  holidays  were  now  fast  approaching,  when 
Mademoiselle  Victoire  was  to  go  to  her  home  in 
France  for  two  months.  Georgie,  feeling  it  just 
doubtful  whether  she  would  find  her  at  Leighton 
on  her  return,  and,  wishing  to  manifest  her  per- 
fectly friendly  feeling,  determined  to  make  her 
some  little  parting  gift.  To  accomplish  this  pur- 
pose, a visit  to  Barnes  was  necessary  ; and  she 
hardly  knew  how  to  arrange  her  plan,  as  on  every 
occasion,  except  when  she  rode  with  her  uncle  and 
Frances,  mademoiselle  accompanied  them. 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


165 


She  confided  her  difficulty  to  Walter,  who,  after 
some  little  consideration,  said,  “Will  you  come 
with  me 

The  only  thing  of  value  which  Walter  possessed 
in  the  world  was  a beautiful  black  horse,  which  had 
been  his  father’s,  and  which  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  India.  It  was  a fiery  spirited  creature, 
and  seemed  to  have  a sort  of  fellow-feeling  with 
his  young  master,  scarcely  allowing  any  one  else 
to  mount  him,  and  receiving  even  his  grooming 
from  the  hands  of  Turner  with  no  very  friendly 
eye.  And  Walter,  though  he  had  been  used  to 
persuade  himself  that  his  life  was  one  utterly 
devoid  of  pleasure,  nevertheless  experienced  a wild 
melancholy  kind  of  enjoyment  in  scouring  the 
country  for  miles  round  on  the  back  of  his  favorite 
steed,  always  alone ; and,  when  once  mounted, 
never  stopping  to  greet  either  friend  or  foe. 

Once  or  twice  in  her  rides  with  Lloyd  and  Fran- 
ces the  black  horse,  with  its  gloomy  eager  rider, 
had  galloped  past  them;  but  not  even  the  presence 
of  Georgina  had  availed  to  draw  from  Walter  word 
or  look  of  recognition.  No  wonder,  then,  that  she 
was  somewhat  surprised  at  the  proposal. 

“ Yes,  that  would  do  very  nicely  if  my  uncle  has 
no  objection;  but  I thought  you  disliked  riding  in 
company  with  any  one,  Walter 

“ So  I do,  with  any  of  them ; but  I don’t  mind 
you.  You  need  not  ask  sir  William,  however ; I 
will  tell  Turner  to  get  your  horse  ready.” 


166 


THE  BROTHER  S WATCHWORD. 


I should  not  like  it  exactly  without  asking  him. 
He  will  not  mind  in  the  least ; he  is  so  good  to 
me.” 

So  she  went  in  search  of  her  uncle. 

“ May  I ride  into  Barnes  with  Walter  this  after- 
noon, uncle,  if  the  pony  is  not  wanted  ?” 

‘‘  Wanted,  my  dear  child,  who  should  want  it  but 
yourself?  But  with  Walter — ” and  here  he  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders — he  is  not  fit  to  take  care  of 
you  ; why  not  go  with  your  cousin  and  me  ?” 

“ It  is  a little  shopping  errand,  uncle ; and  I 
should  not  like  to  detain  you.” 

“ Ah ! very  well.  Miss  Georgie.  Well,  take  care 
of  yourself ; and  of  him  too,  you  will  be  obliged  to, 
I fancy.  He  will  be  dashing  off  madly  somewhere, 
if  you  don’t  look  well  after  him.  Walter  is  the 
last  person  I should  choose  to  ride  with,  were  I in 
your  place.” 

“ He  is  very  kind  and  obliging  to  me,  dear  uncle,” 
Georgina  said. 

“ Well,  I am  glad  of  it,  my  dear  girl ; but  it  is 
the  first  time  I have  had  that  character  of  Walter.” 
He  had,  nevertheless,  the  curiosity  to  stand 
waiting  at  the  window  till  they  rode  off,  and 
watched  with  interest  the  patronizing  air  with  which 
Walter  mounted  his  cousin,  and  then  leaped  into 
his  own  saddle,  reining  in  the  fiery  animal  to  keep 
pace  with  the  little  pony,  which  cantered  easily  at 
his  side.  “ There  is  some  good  in  the  wild  head- 
strong boy,  after  all,”  he  said  to  himself  as  he 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


167 


turned  away  ; ‘‘  but  strange  that  it  should  have  been 
brought  out  by  that  qukjt  sober  little  maiden.” 

Georgie  selected  an  elegant  writing-case  conve- 
niently fitted  up,  and,  after  directing  it  to  be  sent 
to  her  at  Leighton,  they  returned  home. 

The  evening  before  mademoiselle’s  departure,  she 
penned  a tiny  note,  slipped  it  within  the  desk,  and 
sent  it  by  her  maid  to  the  governess’s  room.  The 
features  of  the  volatile  young  French  woman  soft- 
ened as  she  read  those  few  simple  words  : “ Dear 
mademoiselle, — Any  acknowledgment  I can  make  for 
the  pains  you  have  taken  with  my  studies  must  fall 
very  short  of  what  you  deserve ; but  will  you  ac- 
cept the  accompanying  box  as  a slight  token  of  my 
gratitude  ? I hope  you  will  have  a very  pleasant 
visit  with  your  friends  at  home.  Forgive  anything 
that  may,  though  unknown  to  me,  have  been  annoy- 
ing to  you  in  reference  to  the  disarrangement  my 
drawing-lessons  caused.  I am  sure  I would  not 
willingly  have  caused  you  any  trouble.  From  your 
sincere  friend,  Georgina  Emily  Archdale.” 

A few  tears  gathered  in  the  young  lady’s  eyes. 

“ She  is  not  then  the  proud  cold-hearted  girl  I 
had  imagined,”  she  said  to  herself,  and,  hastening  to 
Georgina’s  chamber,  she  put  her  arms  about  her 
neck  with  all  the  impulsive  warmth  of  true  French 
character,  confessed  with  tears  that  she  had  judged 
her  wrongly,  and  treated  her  with  injustice^,  begging 
her  from  henceforward  to  look  upon  her  as  a friend 
and  treat  her  as  such.  Georgina  warmly  responded. 


168 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


She  had  not  guessed  before  that  there  was  so  much 
depth  of  feeling  in  the  head  of  the  gay,  and,  as  she 
had  imagined,  frivolous  young  lady.  She  felt  sorry 
that  she  had  not  known  her  until  now,  just  on  the 
eve  of  parting ; but  she  promised  to  write  and  tell 
of  her  movements  should  Leonard  return  before 
mademoiselle’s  long  holiday  was  over.  And  so  they 
parted  friends. 

It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Georgina 
missed  Lloyd  very  much;  more  especially  after 
Mademoiselle  Victoire’s  departure,  when  her  whole 
time  was  at  her  own  disposal.  She  had  so  long 
been  the  companion  of  his  studio,  had  subjected  her 
plans  and  ideas  in  drawing  so  entirely  to  his  direc- 
tion, and  watched  his  work  with  so  deep  an  interest, 
that  Leighton  seemed  hardly  itself  without  him. 
Still  she  was  not,  on  this  account,  idle ; she  availed 
herself  of  the  permission  he  had  given  her  to  oc- 
cupy his  beautiful  room,  and  there  she  now  spent 
the  greater  part  of  her  day  drawing  busily. 

She  missed  his  constant  advice  very  much  ; but 
he  wrote  to  her  very  often,  made  her  tell  him  just 
what  she  was  doing,  and  sent  dowm  his  instructions 
in  such  a lucid  manner,  that,  as  Georgie  said,  it  was 
almost  as  good  as  having  him  near  her. 

His  letters  were  clever  and  entertaining ; but 
there  was  a certain  tone  about  them  which  always 
gave  his  cousin  an  undefined  feeling  of  dissatisfac- 
tion ; and,  after  having  culled  all  the  information 
they  contained,  she  almost  invariably  committed 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


169 


them  to  the  flames.  She  fancied,  from  hints  that 
he  sometimes  threw  out,  that  he  was  leading  a very 
gay  life,  more  so  than  ever,  she  thought ; and  she 
would  have  liked,  poor  child,  to  warn  him  of  the 
danger,  and  ultimate  sorrow  and  hopelessness  of 
such  a course,  and  to  beg  him  to  seek  eridnrlng 
pleasure  and  satisfliction  in  Christ,  and  heavenly 
things;  but — she  was  afraid.  She  did  not  think  he 
would  listen  to  her  : might  it  not  be  out  of  her 
sphere  and  obtrusive  ? She  erred  ; but  she  did  not 
altogether  fail  in  effort.  She  prayed  every  day, 
and  that  very  earnestly,  for  Lloyd.  She  longed  for 
his  conversion : it  seemed  the  most  desirable  and 
eagerly  to  be  sought  blessing  that  could  possibly  be 
granted  her.  Too  great  a one  almost  to  be  ex- 
pected : perhaps  she  hardly  believed  that  it  ever 
would  be  accorded  ; and,  if  it  might,  it  would  be 
perhaps  by  some  wonderful,  little  less  than  mirac- 
ulous, interposition  or  awakening,  such  as  she  had 
read  of  in  the  lives  of  some  great  saints.  The  still 
small  voice  could  scarcely  reach  his  ear,  dulled  and 
stifled  as  it  was  by  the  din  and  noise  of  this  world’s 
busy  and  distracting  pleasures.  The  arrow  must 
needs  be  very  sharp,  she  thought,  that  would  pene- 
trate the  dense  coating  of  worldly  love  and  ease 
and  indifference  which  enveloped  his  soul.  The 
whirlwind  and  the  fire  would  surely  be  commis- 
sioned to  speak  to  him ; and  of  what  use  was  her 
tiny  effort  ? 

So  she  thought,  poor  child,  in  her  lonely  musings ; 

15 


170 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD, 


but  still  she  prayed,  and  those  prayers  were  often- 
times the  only  earthly  bulwark  which  kept  Lloyd 
from  falling  grievously. 

With  the  holidays  came  a great  deal  of  company 
to  the  Hall ; and  Georgina  found  that  she  was  able 
to  be  pretty  much  to  herself.  There  were  fetes 
and  pic-nics,  and  archery  parties  given  and  re- 
turned ; and  sometimes  Georgina  accompanied  her 
cousins;  but  for  the  most  part  she  preferred  re- 
maining at  home,  her  drawing  occupying  the  morn- 
ing, and  her  aunt  liking  her  company  during  the 
after  part  of  the  day.  Then  she  sometimes  had  a 
drive  with  lady  Archdale,  it  being  a thing  taken  for 
granted  now,  that  Georgie  should  be  her  companion 
on  such  occasions ; and  lady  Archdale’s  health 
seemed  strengthened  somewhat  since  her  return 
from  London. 

Carry  also  was  becoming  a firm  little  attendant 
upon  her  cousin.  She  often  crept  into  her  brother’s 
studio  as  Georgina  was  there  painting  before  her 
easel ; and  would  ask,  in  coaxing  tones,  if  she  might 
stay  a little  while,  it  was  so  dull  in  the  nursery, 
and  Torn  was  so  boisterous.  Consent  was  always 
given,  and  pains  also  taken  to  encourage  in  the  little 
girl  that  taste  for  drawing  which  Georgina  fancied 
she  already  perceived  in  her.  In  other  things,  too, 
did  Georgie  become  her  teacher.  She  read  the 
scriptures  with  and  to  her  daily ; and  the  child 
listened  wdth  deepening  interest,  wondering  that  the 
book  had  never  attracted  her  notice  before. 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


171 


Georgie  also  commenced  reading  to  her  little 
cousin  her  own  favorite  book,  “ The  Pilgrim^s  Pro- 
gress,” explaining  it  carefully  as  she  went  on, 
greatly  to  Carry’s  delight;  and  many  pleasant 
readings  did  they  have  together  on  those  summer 
evenings,  seated  in  some  shady  arbor,  or  beneath 
the  spreading  trees  of  the  park. 

At  the  close  of  a glorious  evening,  quite  in  the 
beginning  of  August,  it  happened  that  Georgina 
and  her  cousin  were  thus  occupied.  The  sun,  very 
bright  before  its  setting,  cast  slanting  rays  of  gold 
through  the  leaves  of  the  old  elm  beneath  whose 
shelter,  on  a rustic  bench,  Georgie  was  sitting. 
Carry  was  at  her  feet:  her  blue  eyes  upturned 
towards  her  cousin  with  an  earnest  wondering  look, 
her  waving  brown  curls  agitated  from  time  to  time 
by  the  soft  evening  breeze.  Georgina^s  voice  was 
low,  but  very  clear  and  sweet,  and  it  seemed  to  suit 
the  words  that  she  was  reading.  There  were  no 
others  near  them,  and  no  outward  noise,  except  the 
ever-sounding  voice  of  nature,  to  disturb  the  solemn 
impression  that  those  words  were  calculated  to 
convey. 

Georgie  ceased  reading  for  a moment.  The  nar- 
rative, although  so  many  times  perused,  was  still 
so  full  of  solemn  pathos  to  her,  and  her  voice 
faltered  a little.  ‘‘  Now  I ferther  saw  that  betwixt 
them  and  the  gate  was  a river ; but  there  was  no 
bridge  to  go  over ; and  the  river  was  very  deep. 
At  the  sight,  therefore,  of  this  river  the  pilgrims 


172 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


were  much  terrified;  hut  the  men  that  went  with 
them  said,  You  must  go  through,  or  you  cannot 
come  at  the  gate.” 

“Blit  did  they?”  asked  Caroline  eagerly.  “O 
how  did  they  get  across  ?” 

Georgina  went  on.  With  breathless  interest  the 
child  listened,  the  expression  of  her  face  becoming 
more  and  more  earnest  the  while.  She  heard  of 
Christian’s  sharp  and  terrible  conflict,  the  hopeful 
and  comforting  words  of  his  fellow-pilgrim,  of  their 
safe  and  glorious  landing,  and  the  triumphant  greet- 
ing which  awaited  them  on  the  other  side. 

“ Shall  we  have  to  go  over  that  nver,  Georgie  ?” 
she  asked,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

‘‘ Yes,  darling,”  said  her  cousin;  ‘‘but  is  there 
anything  to  fear  if  Christ  is  near  us,  as  he  was  with 
Christian,  and  if  there  is  such  joy  and  glory  at  the 
end  ?” 

“No,  not  when  we  know  that  he  is  our  friend ; 
but  I do  not  know  that.  I have  been  very  naughty ; 
I never  thought  of  him  at  all  till  you  told  me  of 
him  ; and  now  I so  often  forget  him ! O Georgie, 
I wish  I were  like  you.” , 

“Do  not  wish  that,  dear  Carry ; rather  ask  to 
be  made  like  him.  He  will  listen  to  your  prayer, 
darling.  He  loves  little  children,  for  he  died  for 
them.” 

“ Is  there  any  more,  Georgie  ? O it  almost  makes 
me  want  to  go  to  heaven  to  see  that  beautiful  city, 
and  the  King,  and  the  angels.” 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


173 


Georgina  read  again.  “ Now,  just  as  the  gates 
were  opened  to  let  in  the  men,  I looked  in  after 
them  ; and,  behold,  the  city  shone  like  the  sun,  the 
streets  also  were  paved  with  gold ; and  in  them 
walked  many  men  with  crowns  on  their  heads, 
palms  in  their  hands,  and  golden  harps  to  sing 
praises  withal.  There  were  also  of  them  that  had 
wings;  and  they  answered  one  another  without 
intermission,  saying,  ‘ Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the 
Lord !’  And  after  that  they  shut  up  the  gates ; 
which,  when  I had  seen,  I wished  myself  among 
them.” 

The  last  words  had  scarcely  passed  from  Georgie’s 
lips  when  she  felt  a firm  hand  laid  upon  her  shoulder. 
She  started  up  hastily ; but  not  before  Carry  had 
exclaimed,  in  a tone  of  surprise  and  pleasure,  “It  is 
Lloyd  !” 

Georgina  was  almost  too  surprised  to  speak  at 
first. 

“Well,  Caroline,  how  are  you?”  he  said,  kissing 
the  child.  “ Constance,  did  I startle  you?  You  are 
not  glad  to  see  me,  it  appears  ?” 

“ O yes,  so  glad  ! but,  Lloyd,  how  did  you  come  ? 
I did  not  hear  you.” 

She  took  his  hand  so  warmly,  and  a glow  of  suoli 
real  pleasure  came  into  her  face,  that  he  could  not 
doubt  the  reality  of  her  welcome.  He  sat  down  on 
the  bench  beside  her.  “ I thought  I would  take  you 
all  by  surprise  for  once,”  he  said. 

“Yes,  I hardly  expected  you  so  soon.  I am  very 

15* 


174 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


glad  you  are  come.  Do  they  know  about  it  in- 
doors? I must  go  and  tell  them.” 

“ No  such  desperate  hurry,”  replied  he,  rising, 
however,  listlessly.  “What  are  they  all  about?” 
and  there  was  a touch  of  impatience  in  his  tone. 

“At  dinner,  I suppose,”  his  cousin  answered. 
“ Shall  we  go  in  ? I am  afraid  you  are  tired.” 

“ Yes,  I am,  awfully.  I have  walked  from  the 
station.”  * 

“ I will  run  in  and  give  notice,”  said  Caroline ; 
and  she  bounded  across  the  park. 

Lloyd  and  Georgie  followed  more  deliberately. 

“ Georgina,  you  are  looking  very  well,  and  as 
quiet  and  well-behaved  as  ever.  But  why  are  you 
not  in  the  house  dining  with  the  others,  like  a 
reasonable  little  woman?” 

“ Because  I prefer  spending  these  lovely  evenings 
out  of  doors.  Don’t  you  think  it  much  more  pleas- 
ant? Besides,  there  are  a great  many  people  here 
now ; and  you  know  I am  rather  shy.” 

“ I wish  I knew  you  were  not.  I was  in  hopes  of 
finding  you  wiser,  little  Conny.  Have  you  heard 
from  Leonard?” 

“ No ; not  for  some  time and  her  face  was 
clouded  instantly. 

“You  thought  he  would  be  back  in  August?” 
“Yes,  I did.  O I cannot  tell  you,  Lloyd,  what 
this  long,  long  waiting  is.” 

Lloyd  changed  the  subject  immediately;  and 
goon  afterwards  they  reached  the  house.  The 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


175 


whole  family  were  charmed  at  his  unexpected  ap- 
pearance. Frances  possessed  herself  of  his  arm. 
“O  you  are  a dear  good  fellow  to  have  come  just  ^ 
now.  We  all  w^anted  you  terribly:  come  in  to 
dinner.”  She  led  him  off,  and  Georgie  saw  nothing 
more  of  Lloyd  that  night. 

But  the  next  morning,  as  soon  as  breakfast  was 
over,  he  beckoned  her  away  with  his  old  smile  and  * 
shrug  of  ennui,  saying,  “Now  let  me  see  what  you 
have  been  doing  all  this  while.  O how  I have 
longed  for  my  easel !”  And  the  next  minute  they 
were  on  their  way  to  his  studio,  notwithstanding 
Frances’  cry  of  shame  at  his  immuring  himself,  as 
she  called  it,  for  the  whole  morning. 

“Very  respectable,”  he  pronounced,  as  Georgina 
displayed  some  drawings  on  which  she  had  been  re- 
cently engaged.  “But  what  have  we  here?” 

As  he  spoke  he  uncovered  an  easel  close  at  hand, 
on  which  was  a picture  in  a partially  finished  state. 
“My  dear  girl,  what  a strange  composition!  half 
saint,  half  Leonard  ! Where  have  your  flmcies  been 
wandering?  And  not  badly  done,  either.” 

Georgina’s  face  lightened  up  even  with  this  some- 
what-qualified approbation.  “ O it  is  my  picture, 
my  very  owm ; and  do  you  really  think  it  is  like 
Leonard  % I am  so  glad.” 

“Your  very  own,  what  do  you  mean?  Was 
this  strangely  solemn  face  revealed  to  you  in  some 
wonderful  dream  or  Aosion,  and  did  you  arrest  the 


170 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


phantom,  and  stamp  it  in  reality  in  the  person  of 
your  brother  f’ 

“ Not  exactly ; and  perhaps  I was  wrong  in  say- 
ing it  was  entirely  my  own ; for  though  I have 
never  seen  it,  I have  read  of  it.” 

“ Where  asked  Lloyd. 

“You  would  not  know  the  book,”  she  an- 
swered. 

“Nevertheless  I choose  to  know;  and  in  here, 
you  know,  Conny,  I am  master.” 

She  colored  a little ; then,  looking  down  upon 
the  floor, she  repeated, in  a clear  steady  tone,  “This 
was  the  fashion  of  it.  It  had  eyes  lifted  up  to 
heaven,  the  best  of  books  in  his  hand,  the  law  of 
truth  was  written  upon  his  lips,  the  world  was  be- 
hind his  back : it  stood  as  if  it  pleaded  with  men ; 
and  a crown  of  gold  did  hang  over  its  head.” 

“ You  are  a strange  girl,  and  read  the  strangest 
set  of  books  that  can  be  conceived,”  her  cousin  said, 
after  a moment’s  silence,  tind  rapid  glance  at  the 
picture  to  see  whether  it  agreed  in  all  its  descrip- 
tion, “ But  if  you  mean  this  as  a likeness  of  Leon- 
ard, it  will  do ; and  perhaps  you  will  favor  me  with 
the  next  sitting.  It  will  be  merely  returning  a 
compliment.  Look  at  my  little  girl  under  the 
elms,  you  grow  more  like  her  every  day.” 

Georgie  had  learned  to  receive  her  cousin’s  com- 
plimentary speeches  with  less  discomposure  than  at 
first,  and  she  only  smiled  in  reply,  asking  him  at 
the  same  time  some  question  about  the  background 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


177 


of  her  picture.  Soon  both  were  busily  and  silently 
engaged  in  their  respective  work. 

J^lany  pleasant  mornings  passed  thus.  Lloyd 
was  the  same  kind  and  considerate  friend  as  he  had 
been  before  and  during  their  London  visit.  But 
Georgina,  who  watched  him  closely,  perceived  a 
change  in  him  at  other  times — a change  which  did 
not  please  her.  Though  his  spirits  seemed  gay  al- 
most to  exhilaration  in  the  family  circle  and  in 
company,  yet  there  were  transient  gleams  of  rest- 
lessness and  dissatisfaction  which  would  gather  in 
a moment  across  his  fine  countenance,  and  as  rap 
idly  pass  away. 

Though  his  mornings  \vere  devoted  to  his  paint- 
ing and  to  her,  yet  in  the  after-parts  of  the  day  she 
saw'  but  little  of  him.  There  w^ere  some  brother- 
officers  stationed  for  a time  at  Barnes,  and  wdth 
them  much  of  his  time  was  spent,  and,  as  Georgie 
feared,  not  most  profitably.  He  brought  them 
frequently  to  the  Hall  ; and  there  was  a great  deal 
of  evening  amusement  and  gaiety,  in  which  Geor- 
gina very  little  participated. 

Sir  Henry  Legh,  too,  was  a frequent  visitor  at 
Leighton.  He  had  formed  a great  friendship  for 
Lloyd ; and  his  influence  over  him  seemed,  as  far 
as  Georgie  was  able  to  judge,  anything  but  desir- 
able. He  was  very  gay  and  reckless : dogs  and 
horses  the  usual  topic  of  his  conversation ; and 
with  the  exception  of  his  being  a connoisseur  and 
admirer  of  pictures,  Georgie  discovered  not  one 


178 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


good  trait  about  him.  He  invaded  Lloyd’s  studio 
on  two  or  three  occasions,  and  complimented  Geor- 
gie  very  much  on  the  great  skill  displayed  in  her 
drawings ; but  there  was  a something  in  his  tone 
and  manner  from  which  she  involuntarily  shrank, 
and  always  felt  a sort  of  relief  when  the  room  was 
freed  from  his  presence. 

“ You  don’t  like  Legh,”  Lloyd  said  to  her,  on% 
day,  when  sir  Henry  had  just  paid  one  of  his  im- 
promptu visits.  Georgina  did  not  answer. 

“Tell  me  your  reasons,  Georgie,”  said  her  cou- 
sin. “ You  have  too  much  good  sense  to  dislike  a 
person  without  sufficient  reason ; and  I am  sure  he 
is  always  friendly  enough  to  you.” 

“ But  do  I dislike  him  she  asked ; for  she  had 
never  so  far  analyzed  her  feelings  on  the  subject. 
“ What  makes  you  think  so  f’ 

“ Why,  your  behavior,  to  be  sure  : you  snub  him 
awfully.” 

Georgina  took  a hasty  mental  retrospection  of 
the  past  hour,  and  then  ^id,  “ If  you  mean  by 
snubbing  that  I do  not  mnOh  care  to  talk  to  sir 
Henry  Legh,  perhaps  you  af^  right ; but  I hope  I 
have  not  been  rude.”  S 

“Why  don’t  you  care  to  ^Ik  to  him?  What 
possible  harm  do  you  find  in  him?  He  is  one  of 
the  nicest  fellows  going.” 

“ He  is  not  what  Leonard  would  call  a Christian, 
or  a gentleman,”  said  Georgie,  with  rather  more 
than  her  usual  boldness. 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE. 


179 


Lloyd  gave  a “hem  !”  of  some  annoyance 
“ Leonard  again !”  he  said.  “ When  v/ill  you 
learn,  Conny,  to  think  for  yourself'?” 

“ I do  think  that  myself,”  she  replied. 

“ I wonder  you  condescend  to  associate  with  me^ 
then,”  Lloyd  remarked. 

“ You  are  a gentleman,  and  my  cousin,”  she  an- 
swered quickly,  “ and  very,  very  kind  to  me.” 

“ Nay,  nay,”  interrupted  Lloyd,  “ you  are  mis- 
taken in  the  obligation.  But,  Constance,  I am  sorry 
you  don’t  like  sir  Henry.  It  is  his  birth-day  next 
week,  and  he  has  asked  a favor  of  you.” 

“ Of  me ! and  what '?”  asked  Georgie,  looking 
up. 

“ O never  mind  till  the  time  comes  : ’tis  a secret. 
Tliose  angels  supporting  the  crown  are  somewhat 
unethereal,  Georgie  : you  must  improve  them.” 
Georgina  felt  a little  uneasy.  What  might  this 
favor  be?  and  to  be  gained  through  the  medium  of 
Lloyd  ! She  thought  of  all  the  past,  and  was  anx- 
ious, then  looked  up  at  her  cousin’s  face,  so  bright, 
so  kind,  so  true;  and  the  anxiety  passed  away. 
Yes,  she  could  trust  Lloyd  now.  He  would  never, 
after  all  that  had  passed,  tempt  her  to  do  wrong 
again. 

And,  when  he  smiled  and  spoke  to  her  again  in 
that  deep  winning  voice  of  his,  softened  almost  to 
gentleness  in  addressing  her,  she  blamed  herself 
that  a doubt  of  his  perfect  sincerity  and  friendli- 
ness should  even  have  crossed  her  mind. 


XI 


&XGSR  &XD  SORROW, 

“Or  if,  for  oiir  nnworthiness, 

Toil,  prayer,  and  watching  fail, 

In  disappointment  thou  canst  bless, 

So  love  of  heart  prevail. 

Keble. 


m 


O,  Lloyd,  do  not  ask  me  any  more.  I really 
cannot  go  ; to  please  sir  Henry,  or  to  please 
even  you.” 

“ I have  no  patience  with  such  absurd  affectation. 
There  is  more  of  obstinacy  than  anything  else  in 
such  ridiculous  and  feigned  scruples,”  said  Lloyd, 
with  flashing  eyes. 

Georgina  colored,  and  with  difficulty  kept  down 
some  rising  emotion  ; however  she  did  not  reply. 

“ Tell  me  again,  am  I to  be  made  a fool  of  by 
you,  or  not  ? Once  for  all,  will  you  go  ? I told 
you,  you  need  not  dance  yourself.” 

“ No,”  she  answered  decidedly. 

“ A regular  set  of  humbugs,  yourself  and  your 
brother,”  he  muttered  angrily. 

“ What  said  Georgina,  on  hearing  her  brother’s 
name.  ^ 

“ Why,  Leonard  is  a humbug  for  putting  such 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


181 


preposterous  notions  into  your  head ; and  you  are 
one  for  listening  to  tliem,”  said  Lloyd  in  a tone  of 
bitter  scorn,  which  lu-  knew  only  too  w'ell  how  to 
assume  at  times,  lie  had  never,  however,  used  it 
with  her  before  ; and  even  then,  had  it  been  direct- 
ed only  against  herself,  she  might  have  borne  it ; 
but  such  a speech  and  such  a tone  in  reference  to 
Leonard,  her  idolized  brother ! She  lost,  for  the 
moment,  all  sort  of  self-control,  her  face  glowed, 
her  eyes  flashed  with  passion.  Could  it  possibly 
be  Georgie? 

Without  waiting  one  moment  to  consider  her 
ill-timed  words,  so  bitterly  to  be  regretted  after- 
wards, she  exclaimed  impetuously,  “Lloyd!  how 
can  you  dare  to  speak  so  of  Leonard — Leonard, 
so  good,  so  pure,  so  holy?  you — who  are  a 
swearer  ” — 

They  had  scarcely  escaped  her  lips  before  she 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  recalled  them ; 
but  it  w’as  too  late.  The  blow  was  too  well  aimed  : 
she  could  not,  had  she  studied  a wdiole  life-time, 
have  found  words  more  galling,  more  exasperating 
to  the  proud  haughty  Lloyd.  He  became  per- 
fectly pale  with  anger;  then,  unconscious  almost 
of  w’hat  he  was  doing,  and  thinking  only  of  the 
daring  and  defiance  of  the  wmrds  addressed  to  him, 
he  raised  his  hand,  and  struck  his  young  cousin  as 
she  stood  there  before  him,  still  trembling  wnth  ex- 
citement and  agitation. 


16 


182  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

‘‘  Take  that  for  your  impudence — and — go  !”  he 
muttered  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

He  need  not  have  added  the  last  word.  With  a 
cry  less  of  pain  than  of  intense  fear  and  sorrow, 
she  had  rushed  from  the  room  before  her  cousin  had 
time  to  recollect  what  he  had  done.  But  the  dread- 
ful thought  came  over  him  the  next  moment.  He 
called  her  back  once  and  again ; but  she  heard 
nothing,  sav/  nothing,  felt  nothing  till  she  was 
locked  in  her  own  room,  and  had  flung  herself  in  a 
paroxysm  of  grief  and  tears  upon  the  little  couch 
near  her  bed.  What  have  I done?  What  have 
I done  ?”  she  cried  between  her  sobs.  “ O,  is  this 
the  end  of  my  concern  and  interest  and  prayers  for 
him  ? To  bring  reproach  upon  the  name  of  Christ 
•by  my  sinful  wicked  passion  ! And  after  his  kind- 
ness for  so  many  months  ! Is  it  possible!  O can 
I,  can  I have  said  it?”  Yes,  her  burning  cheek  gave 
her  back  the  answer,  if  nothing  else  spoke.  She 
hid  her  face  in  the  cushions,  and  wept  bitterly,  pas- 
sionately, remorsefully.  O,  to  recall  the  words ! 
But,  alas  1 it  was  impossible.  Whatever  she  might 
do  or  say  in  apology,  they  could  never  be  effaced, 
never  forgotten.  She  remembered  the  expression 
of  his  countenance  at  the  time,  and  felt  that  it  must 
be  so. 

But  far  wmrse  than  her  bitter  offence  against  her 
cousin  was  the  thought  of  the^grievous  sin  against 
her  heavenly  Father.  She  never  remembered 
being  in  such  a fearful  passion  before.  O was  it 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


183 


possible  that  one  really  a Christian  could  act 
so  ? 

She  did  not  attempt  to  Qxtenuate  or  justify  her 
conduct  in  any  way.  She  knew  that,  whatever 
Lloyd’s  aggravation  had  been,  her  duty  remained 
the  same,  and  that  she  had  grievously,  deeply  neg- 
lected it.  O what  could  she  do  ? Nothing,  noth- 
ing, but  go  to  God  just  as  she  was,  lay  it  before 
him  with  all  the  deep  agony  of  contrition  she  was 
feeling,  and  seek  forgiveness.  Lord,  my  life 
seems  nothing  but  one  long  act  of  fliilures,”  she 
murmured  ; “ and  yet  I long  to  please  thee.  O 
grant  me  thy  strength,  thy  grace,  thy  help.” 

She  remained  on  her  knees  a long  time ; and 
rose  at  last,  humbled,  sorrowful,  tearful  still ; but 
somewhat  lightened  of  her  great  load  of  misery. 

A servant  tapped  at  her  door  at  last,  telling  her 
that  luncheon  was  waiting.  She  sent  an  excuse  of 
violent  head-ache,  which  indeed  was  so  overpower- 
ing that  she  felt  scarcely  able  to  lift  up  her  head. 
Nevertheless  she  seated  herself  at  her  writing-table, 
and  with  trembling  fingers  wrote  the  following 
note  to  her  cousin  : 

“ My  dear  Lloyd, — After  asking  forgiveness  of 
God,  I feel  that  I cannot  rest  even  a minute  with- 
out telling  you  how  sorry,  how  condemned  I feel 
for  my  wdeked  passion,  and  my  ungrateful  words 
to  you  this  morning.  I hardly  like  to  ask  it,  but, 
if  you  only  knew  the  sorrow  I feel,  I think  you  would 


184 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


forgive  me.  It  was  said  ba'-^tilj,  and  without  con- 
sidering how  wrong  and  unbecoming  it  was.  Can 
you  forgive  me  ? And,  as  a sign  that  you  do,  will 
you  speak  to  me  to-morrow  morning  as  usual? 
Dear  Lloyd,  if  I had  not  spoken  so  rashly  and  in- 
considerately, I might  some  day  have  asked  you  if 
you  have  ever  thought  of  the  great  sin  of  taking 
God’s  name  in  vain  ; but  I meant  to  have  spoken 
humbly,  as  one  much  younger  than  yourself.  O 
do  not  continue  to  do  so  because  I have  acted  so 
wickedly  ; for  they  are  the  words  of  the  Bible,  and 
not  mine,  “ Swear  not  at  all.”  Believe  me,  your 
affectionate  and  sorrowful,  Georgina.” 

The  little  letter  was  not  finished  without  many 
tears.  Just  after  she  had  sealed  it  she  saw  Frances 
and  Lloyd  setting  off  on  their  usual  afternoon  ride  ; 
and  the  former  glanced  up  at  her  room,  as  though 
remarking  on  her  absence,  for  Georgie  frequently 
accompanied  them,  as  before. 

“ It  is  no  use  sending  it  yet,  then,”  she  murmured  ; 
and,  laying  herself  again  upon  the  sofa,  sought  to 
calm  her  throbbing,  aching  head.  She  slept  a little  ; 
and,  getting  up  between  five  and  six  o’clock,  deter- 
mined to  go  and  have  tea  with  lady  Archdale,  as 
she  sometimes  did  when  not  feeling  very  well. 
Headache  was  not  an  unusual  thing  with  her ; and 
she  was  always  suffered  to  remain,  at  such  times, 
quiet  and  unmolested  in  the  retirement  of  her  own 
room.  She  felt  very  thankful  to  encounter,  on  her 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


185 


way  to  her  aunt’s  apartment,  Williams,  Lloyd’s 
man-servant,  who  was  taking  hot  water  to  his  mas- 
ter’s room,  in  readiness  for  his  evening  toilet. 

“ Will  you  give  this  note  to  Mr.  Lloyd  when  he 
comes  in,  if  you  please,  Williams  she  said,  placing 
the  letter  in  his  hand. 

He  bowed  obsequiously,  and  promised;  then  put 
it  into  his  pocket,  and  thought  no  more  of  it  for  the 
next  three  months.  Poor  little  Georgie  ! 

“ And  so  my  darling  has  had  her  sad  headache 
again,”  said  lady  Archdaie  compassionately,  as 
Georgina  entered  her  room. 

“ It  is  better  now,  thank  you,  auntie ; but  I thought 
I would  take  tea  with  you  this  evening,  if  you  don’t 
mind,  and  go  to  bed  early.” 

‘‘  I am  so  glad  to  have  you,  my  love.  Your  little 
face  is  all  hot  and  flushed  now.  It  has  been  very 
painful,  I am  afraid.” 

“ I have  been  lying  down,  auntie  dear,  on  the 
couch,  and  been  to  sleep  a little  while  too  ; so  my 
face  is  hot.” 

Rest  again,  dear  child,  on  that  lounge  : stay,  I 
will  ring,  and  Harbridge  shall  arrange  you.” 

“ No,  thank  you,  dear  aunt,  I will  sit  here  in  my 
own  place  till  tea  : I like  that  best.” 

She  sat  down  on  a low  ottoman  by  her  aunt’s 
sofa,  took  one  of  the  thin  white  hands  in  hers,  and 
began  to  caress  it,  leaning  her  hot  cheek  against  it, 
and  kissing  it  over  again. 

“ I am  afraid  you  have  been  grieving  about  Leon- 
10* 


186 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


ard,”  said  lady  Archdale,  fondly  ; for  she  fancied 
she  felt  something  like  a tear  drop  upon  the  hand 
that  Georgie  held. 

‘‘No,  auntie,  not  particularly.  I do  indeed  long 
to  see  him  again ; and  it  seems  strange  I should  not 
hear.  I had  almost  hoped  he  would  be  home  by 
this  time.” 

“I  did  not  expect  that,  darling;  and  I think  you 
are  sure  of  hearing  by  the  next  mail.  You  must 
try  not  to  be  too  anxious.  You  have  been  so  good 
and  patient  hitherto.” 

Just  then  Harbridge  came  in  with  the  tea. 
Georgie  roused  herself  to  pour  it  out;  and  in 
waiting  upon  her  aunt  she  partially  forgot  her  own 
troubles.  She  saw  nothing  of  the  rest  of  the  family 
that  evening,  but  waited  anxiously  for  the  morning, 
half  dreading  to  meet  her  cousin,  but  yet  trusting 
and  praying  that  her  note  might  have  taken  some 
effect  in  softening  his  feelings  towards  her.  That 
was  Tuesday  ; and  he  was  to  leave  Leighton  on  the 
Thursday  till  Christmas.  It  would  indeed  be  sad 
were  he  to  part  from  her  in  anger. 

And  what  had  been  Lloyd’s  feelings  meanwhile? 
After  Georgie  had  left  the  room  intense  shame  and 
self-reproach  had  succeeded  the  first  wild  impulse 
of  anger.  That  he  should  so  far  have  forgotten 
himself  as  a man,  far  more  as  a gentleman,  as  to 
strike  a girl,  and  one  too  who  had  ever  been  so 
gentle,  so  meek,  so  trustful  as  Georgina ; and  who 
now,  though  her  words  seemed  hard  and  irritating, 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


187 


yet  had  only  spoken  to  him  the  plain  undisguised 
truth,  in  return  for  a bitter  taunt  from  him,  which 
his  conscience  told  him  was  entirely  false — it  seemed 
incredible,  even  to  himself,  that  he  could  have  acted 
thus ; and  he  felt,  for  a moment,  willing  to  undergo 
almost  any  humiliation  to  regain  his  forfeited  honor. 

He  called  her  back,  as  we  have  seen,  but  received 
no  answer.  What  was  to  be  done?  A servant 
came  just  then,  and  summoned  him  to  the  drawing- 
room. Two  of  his  officer  friends  were  awaiting  him 
there ; and,  in  conversation  with  them  and  others 
of  the  family,  his  first  bitter  feelings  of  remorse 
wore  offi  He  was  a little  uncomfortable  on  hearing 
at  the  luncheon-table  that  his  cousin  was  ailing,  and 
unable  to  fill  her  accustomed  place ; and  yet  the 
idea  of  meeting  publicly,  until  reconciliation  had 
been  made,  was  so  distasteful  to  him,  that  he  could 
hardly  regret  it. 

He  rode  with  Frances  as  usual  in  the  afternoon. 
Thoughts  of  the  absent  one  disturbed  him  very  un- 
co'mfortably  during  the  ride ; though  he  was,  to  all 
appearance,  gay  as  usual. 

On  his  return  he  hastened  to  the  library. 

“She  is  sure  to  be  there,”  he  thought,  “and, 
good-hearted  little  creature  as  she  is,  will  no  doubt 
make  some  allusion  to  this  stupid  affair ; and  I 
shall  not  find  much  difficulty,  I fancy,  in  setting 
matters  straight  again.  After  all,  I only  forgot 
myself  for  the  moment;  and  she  was  provokingly 
impudent,” 


188 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


But  no  Georgina  was  to  be  found.  After  dinner 
he  went  to  dress  for  the  ball  at  Sir  Henry  Legh’s, 
which  had  occasioned  the  unfortunate  upset,  and 
when  ready,  again  made  a visit  to  the  library.  But 
only  Walter  was  there : his  great  books  open  before 
him. 

“ I say,  where  is  Georgina  he  inquired. 

There  seemed,  to  his  fancy,  a reproachful  look  in 
Walter’s  dark  eyes  as  he  answered,  ‘‘You  might 
know  as  well  as  I do,  I should  think,  that  she  is 
gone  to  bed  with  one  of  her  dreadful  headaches.” 
Lloyd  left  the  room  hastily.  “ Shame,”  he  mut- 
tered angrily,  and  stamping  his  foot  on  the  hall- 
floor.  “ She  has  gone  and  told  that  boy  !” 

All  thoughts  of  humbling  himself,  or  seeking  a 
reconciliation  now  completely  vanished  from  Lloyd’s 
breast.  The  unfounded  suspicion  that  Georgie  had 
confided' 4)  Walter  the  particulars  of  his  morning’s 
passion,  took  so  firm  a hold  upon  his  mind,  that  all 
his  natural  pride  and  arrogance  were  afresh  aroused, 
and  his  thoughts  towards  his  now  penitent  cousin  as 
hard  and  bitter  as  shame  and  mortifying  self-re- 
proach might  make  them. 

Breakfast  was  nearly  over,  the  follov/ing  morn- 
ing, w'hen  he  entered  the  dining-room.  Georgina 
was  there,  in  her  accustomed  place,  looking  much 
as  usual,  but  her  poor  heart  throbbing  with  an  in- 
ward tumult  which  she  could  not  suppress.  Would 
he  notice  her?  No.  With  a careless  “Good 
morning”  to  all,  he  threw  himself  into  a chair,  took 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


189 


up  the  morning  paper,  and  was  soon  fully  engrossed 
with  it. 

He  has  not  forgiven  me,  then,  she  thought ; and, 
hastily  swallowing  the  remainder  of  her  breakfast, 
she  left  the  room  as  soon  as  possible.  What  a 
wearisome  day  it  was  ! Not  a word  from  Lloyd, 
not  a look,  nor  a glance.  When  in  her  presence,  he 
was  ju?t  as  coldly  indifferent  as  though  she  had  not 
been  there,  laughing  and  joking  with  the  others 
more  than  was  his  wont,  but  studiously  ignoring 
her. 

“I  could  not  have  said  more  than  I did  in  my 
note,  yesterday,”  she  repeated  to  herself  many 
times  ; “ but  yet  I cannot  much  wonder.  I deserve 
it ; for  I have  brought  it  upon  myself.  And  yet  I 
should  not  have  thought  him  unforgiving,  though 
proud  and  hasty.  And — he  leaves  to-morrow !” 
Yes,  all  preparations  for  his  three  months’  absence 
were  being  made.  The  whole  household  seemed 
busy  on  his  behalf.  There  were  portmanteaus  to 
be  packed,  books  and  paintings  to  be  put  together, 
time  tables  to  be  consulted;  for  Lloyd  had  altered 
his  journeying  plan  a little  that  morning,  owing  to 
a pressing  letter  from  an  Oxford  friend  to  spend  a 
day  with  him  en  route  to  Dover,  where  his  regiment 
was  stationed  for  a time.  And  Georgie,  who  would 
so  gladly  have  lent  a helping  hand,  and  who  knew 
that  in  some  things  no  one  could  assist  him  so  well 
as  herself,  dared  not  even  enter  his  room,  or  proffer 
her  services.  Poor  child  ! had  she  ventured  to  do 


190 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


this,  all  might  have  been  explained,  her  little  tear- 
stained  note  been  produced  from  the  deep  recesses 
of  Williams’s  pocket,  and  much  pain  and  trouble 
have  been  spared.  But  she  had  gone  as  far  as  she 
dared — as  far  as  she  thought  was  right,  and  now  she 
felt  she  must  bear  the  consequences. 

Lloyd  found  himself  twenty  times  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  upon  the  point  of  calling  her,  to  ask  some 
question,  to  give  some  parting  injunction ; but  the 
thought  of  his  insulted  honor,  as  he  called  it,  came 
into  his  mind  just  in  time,  and  he  had  to  seek  assist- 
ance elsewhere.  If  she  would  only  just  say  she 
was  in  the  wrong,  it  would  be  a different  thing,  he 
thought ; but  to  have  told  of  it  to  another,  and, 
above  all,  to  Walter,  it  was  unpardonable.  Then, 
she  appeared  so  studiously  to  avoid  him.  Did  not 
this  show  what  she  had  done,  and  that  she  was 
ashamed  of  it  ? 

Night  came  at  last ; and  poor  Georgina  went  sad 
and  mournful  to  her  room.  She  met  Lloyd  on  the 
staircase ; and  he  passed  her,  stern  and  resentful. 
She  longed  just  to  say  “ Good  night,”  but  dared  not. 
There  was  the  angry  scowl  of  the  morning  upon  his 
brow,  and  she  could  not  meet  that 

“ O my  sinful  passion  !”  she  said  again  bitterly  to 
herself,  it  has  cost  me  very  dear,  and,  worst  of  all, 
has  brought  reproach  upon  the  Name  I love.”  And 
again  she  prayed  for  pardon,  and  for  God’s  blessing 
upon  her  cousin. 

The  following  morning  she  awoke  more  calm. 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


191 


She  deemed,  and  truly  too,  that  perhaps  this  trouble, 
bitter  as  it  was,  had  been  sent  of  God  for  some  wise 
purpose.  She  had  been  liking  Lloyd  too  well.  All 
the  attractions  of  his  naturally  noble  character  had 
been  opened  up  to  her ; she  had  studied  them,  and 
rejoiced  in  his  talents,  and  genius,  and  perhaps  his 
beauty  too.  She  felt  in  him  the  sisterly  pride  that 
she  had  in  Leonard  ; and  of  late,  since  her  fear  of 
him  had  quite  passed  away,  she  had  felt  a great 
pleasure  in  his  presence,  and  quiet  enjoyment  of  all 
his  efforts  to  please  her.  She  had  begun  to  make 
an  idol  of  him ; and  now  the  dream  was  all  at  once 
dissipated,  and  that  through  her  own  instrumental- 
ity. It  was  very  hard  to  bear ; but,  as  soon  as  she 
seemed  to  see  her  Father’s  hand  overruling  even 
her  sinful  failure  for  her  spiritual  good,  the  burden 
became  lighter. 

Lloyd  was  to  leave  Leighton  that  afternoon  at 
three  o’clock.  Just  at  noon,  Georgie,  on  her  way 
to  fetch  a book  from  the  school-room,  passed  by  the 
library  door.  She  heard  the  voice  of  lady  Legh 
and  her  young  sister-in-law  talking  with  Frances. 
At  the  moment  Georgie  passed,  the  latter  exclaimed, 
“ O,  I must  fetch  you  Lloyd’s  last  drawing : it  is 
scarcely  finished,  I believe;  but  he  takes  it  with 
him  this  afternoon.  It  is  so  beautifully  done.” 

Georgina  knew  what  picture  it  was — one  in  oils 
that  Lloyd  had  been  working  hard  at  lately,  of 
cattle  drinking  at  a narrow  stream,  with  flowers 
and  rushes  on  the  brink,  and  waving  trees  overhead. 


192 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


She  knew  bow  careful  he  was  over  it,  and  almob 
trembled,  as  she  saw  her  cousin  hasten  across  the 
hall,  in  the  direction  of  his  studio,  to  fetch  it. 

She  was  kept  in  the  school-room  longer  than  she 
at  first  intended,  and  it  might  have  been  half  an 
hour  after,  that  she  re-passed  the  library.  All  was 
quiet  there : the  guests  were  gone.  “ I wonder 
whether  the  picture  is  taken  back,”  she  said,  with 
her  usual  forethought ; then  went  in  to  see.  No ; 
there  it  lay,  to  her  great  alarm,  with  the  briglit  col- 
ors still  wet,  half  on  the  ledge  of  the  window,  which 
was  open,  half  on  a small  round  table  close  by. 
“ What  would  Lloyd  say  ? What  a dangerous 
place !”  she  exclaimed,  mentally,  and  was  hastening 
across  the  wide  room  to  rescue' it,  when,  to  her  ex- 
treme flight,  she  saw  the  opened  window  quickly 
descending.  It  was  not  an  uncommon  thing:  the 
spring  was  out  of  repair;  one  moment  more,  the 
heavy  frame  would  fall,  and  Lloyd’s  precious  gem 
of  a picture  be  totally  ruined.  One  thing  only 
could  be  done : she  did  not  stop  to  consider  the 
danger  she  should  herself  incur,  though  a sense  of 
pleasure  in  pain  suffered  to  conciliate  him,  might 
have  glanced  through  her  mind.  She  rushed  across 
the  room,  but  just  in  time,  and  placed  her  hand 
upon  the  sill.  The  heavy  window  fell : the  paint- 
ing was  unhurt;  but  the  poor,  brave  little  fingers, 
were  crushed  terribly.  With  her  right  hand  she 
drew  the  picture  quite  on  the  table,  then  extricated 
the  wounded  one,  which  yet  she  dared  not  look  at, 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


193 


such  a sickly  sensation  of  pain  and  dizziness  was 
coming  over  her,  but,  wrapping  it  in  her  handker- 
chief, with  trembling,  faltering  steps  she  sought  her 
aunt’s  chamber. 

She  felt  that  now  she  must  have  sympathy  ; and 
that  was  the  only  place  where  she  might  find  it. 
In  the  dressing-room  she  met  her  aunt’s  maid. 
Startled  at  her  pale  face  and  the  drops  of  blood 
upon  her  light  muslin  jacket,  Harbridge  begged  to 
know  what  had  happened. 

‘‘  It  was  the  window,  Harbridge,”  she  said.  “ Do 
you  mind  looking  at  my  hand,  and  doing  something 
to  it,  before  I go  to  auntie  ? I feel  so  faint  and 
curious.’’ 

She  dropped  into  the  nearest  seat ; and  the  nurse 
unwrapped  the  handkerchief. 

“ Is  it  very  bad  ?” 

“I  am  afraid  it  is,  my  dear  young  lady.” 

“ Mr.  Selfield  will  be  here  soon,  will  he  not  1 
Shall  we  wait  till  thenf’ 

I think  it  would  be  better.  I will  just  bathe  it 
a little,  and  let  me  give  you  something  to  revive 
you,  my  poor  child,”  she  said  compassionately. 

“ There,  I shall  not  frighten  aunt,  now,  do  you 
think  ?”  Georgie  asked  languidly,  when  her  dress 
was  a little  arranged,  and  she  could  walk  into  the 
room.  “ She  will  let  me  lie  down  and  be  quiet,  I 
know.” 

Lady  Archdale  was  seriously  alarmed.  “ I trust 
Mr.  Selfield  will  soon  be  here,”  she  said ; and  till 
17 


194 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


then,  my  darling,  do  try  and  get  a little  sleep  : you 
look  worn  and  exhausted  altogether,” 

Georgina  knew  that  there  was  but  little  chance 
of  sleeping.  The  pain  in  her  hand  was  sharper 
than  any  she  had  ever  felt  before ; but  it  was  a 
comfort  to  lie  down  in  a darkened  corner  of  the 
room,  and  close  her  eyes  to  everything  external. 

Two  hours  passed,  but  the  doctor  did  not  arrive. 
A little  before  three  o’clock,  the  door  of  lady 
Archdale’s  room  opened  hurriedly,  and  Lloyd  en- 
tered. 

“ Mother,  I am  come  to  say  good-bye,”  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Lady  Archdale  raised  her  finger  warningly,  and 
said,  “ Take  care,”  in  a low  tone. 

“ What  now,  mamma  ? what  is  the  matter  1”  ’ 

“ Georgie,”  she  said  in  a hushed  voice. 

“ "Well,  and  what  of  Georgie?”  He  tried  to  as- 
sume an  indifferent  tone ; and  he  succeeded. 

‘‘  She  has  hurt  her  hand  dreadfully,  poor  child. 
The  library-window  has  fallen  on  it,  or  something 
of  the  kind.  I have  not  heard  the  full  particulars 
yet.” 

“ Nothing  but  a little  graze,  I dare  say,”  he  an- 
swered lightly  : “ girls  make  a tremendous  fuss 
about  trifles  sometimes.” 

• Georgie  did  not  see  his  face  : had  she,  she  might 
not  have  been  so  pained  at  the  indifference  of  the 
words.  Nor  did  she  know  that  he  walked  half 
across  the  room  towards  her,  then  hesitated  a mo- 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


195 


ment,  and  turned  away.  What  would  he  not  have 
given  to  have  spoken  but  two  words  ere  parting  ? 
But  there  she  lay,  her  face  pale  and  still,  and  her 
eyes  flist  closed  ; and  he  could  not  disturb  her  in 
sleep. 

“ Well,  good-bye,  mamma.  I shall  look  out  for 
first-rate  accounts  of  you.  You  will  see  me  all 
right  again  at  Christmas.” 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  ; then  rising  hastily, 
and  with  one  last  glance  towards  the  couch  in  the 
corner  of  the  apartment,  he  left  the  room. 

Georgina  listened  to  his  footsteps  until  they  died 
away  in  the  distance;  then,  a few  minutes  after,  to 
the  faint  sounds  of  parting  and  good-byes  in  the 
hall  below,  to  the  shutting  of  the  front  door,  and, 
lastly,  to  the  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  as  they 
rolled  quickly  down  the  avenue.  Presently  after, 
a short  stifled  sob  came  from  the  little  couch. 
Lady  Archdale  sighed;  for  she  thought  it  was 
drawn  forth  by  pain,  but  she  was  mistaken. 

Mr.  Selfield  came  at  last,  and  examined  the 
wounded  hand.  His  face  told  that  it  was  a serious 
afiair.  One  finger  especially  was  shockingly  crushed. 
He  did  not  say  so  to  Georgina,  but  told  the  nurse, 
after  leaving  the  room,  that  he  should  wait  until 
the  following  day,  but  that  be  quite  feared  the  up- 
per joints  would  have  to  be  taken  off. 

“My  mistress  must  not  know  it,”  said  Har- 
bridge. 

“No,  I will  see  Miss  Archdale  in  another  room 


196 


THE  BROTIIEr’&  WATCHWORD. 


to-morrow.  I think  she  seems  brave-hearted : it 
would  be  as  well  to  tell  her  the  worst  perhaps,  and 
prepare  her  mind  for  what  I fear  must  happen.” 

Poor  child ! she  truly  had  borne  it  bravely.  The 
dressing  was  most  painful ; and,  though  she  had 
not  spoken  once,  nor  given  one  utterance  of  pain, 
fearing  to  distress  her  aunt,  yet  tears  forced  from 
her  eyes  by  the  sharpness  of  the  suffering  dropped 
silently  upon  the  cushions. 

Mr.  Selfield  was  a shrewd  and  clever  man,  well- 
skilled  in  his  profession,  and  at  the  same  time  truly 
kind-hearted ; but  his  manner  was  harsh,  nay,  at 
times  almost  surly  towards  those  even  of  his  pa- 
tients in  whom  he  felt  the  greatest  interest.  He 
had  spoken  very  sharply  to  Georgina  for  not  giving 
a better  account  of  the  way  in  which  she  had  in- 
jured her  hand. 

“You  must  surely  have  seen  that  the  window 
was  falling,”  he  said;  “ why  could  you  not  have  re- 
moved your  hand 

“ It  falls  so  very  quickly  at  the  last,”  Georgie  re- 
plied, who,  besides  her  actual  unwillingness  to  en- 
ter into  full  particulars  of  the  case,  was  so  dizzy 
with  pain  and  faintness,  that  she  had  not  a very 
clear  recollection  of  what  had  happened,  and  won- 
dered herself,  when  she  came  to  think  of  it,  why 
she  had  not  snatched  away  the  painting  instead  of 
placing  her  hand  on  the  sill.  She  remembered, 
however,  that  there  was  a beautiful  alabaster  vase 
of  flowers  on  the  small  table  where  the  picture  lay, 


ANGER  AND  SORROW. 


197 


and  that,  had  she  delayed  even  a moment  in  order 
to  remove  this  vase,  the  opportunity  would  have 
passed,  and  the  painting  have  been  ruined. 

Mr.  Selfield,  however,  could  not  but  admire  the 
heroic  way  in  which  she  bore  the  pain,  and  said  to 
her,  as  he  was  arranging  her  hand  in  a sling, “Now, 
young  lady,  you  have  a bad  hand ; but  it  is  your 
own  fault,  and  you  must  put  the  best  fiice  you  can 
upon  it.  Go  down  stairs  to  tea  with  your  cousins, 
and  try  and  forget  about  it;  and,  if  you  can’t,  take 
the  medicine  that  I shall  send  you  to-night,  and  you 
will  have  some  good  sleep,  1 hope.  I shall  see  you 
again  to-morrow  at  twelve  o’clock  ; so  good-bye, 
and  be  careful  how  you  trifle  with  broken  windows 
again.” 

“ Walter,”  said  Georgina,  as  they  sat  together  in 
a corner  of  the  drawing-room  that  evening  before  a 
chess-table,  which  game  Walter  had  suggested  as  a 
likely  means  to  make  her  forget  her  pain,  “ I hardly 
like  to  think  about  it,  but  I am  really  afraid  that  I 
may  lose  my  little  finger.  I just  caught  a glance 
of  it  once,  and  of  Mr.  Selfield’s  face ; and  you  can- 
not think  how  bad  it  was.” 

“ O Georgie,  is  it  possible 

“ Yes,  I think  so.  Are  you  afraid  of  such 
things 

“ No,  not  a bit.  Will  it  be  any  satisfaction  to 
you  for  me  to  see  Mr.  Selfield  with  you  to-morrow 
morning 

“ Yes,  if  that  should  happen.  I am  a little  afraid 
17* 


108 


TUB  brother’s  watchword. 


of  him ; he  speaks  so  harshly.  And  he  thought 
me  a great  coward  for  crying  this  afternoon,  I 
know.” 

“ What,  did  you  cry 

“ A little  ; but  I should  not  perhaps,  if  you  were 
there.  I don’t  think,  Walter,  I can  have  much 
worse  pain  in  it  than  I have  had  already,  though  the 
idea  shocks  me.”  And  this  was,  in  fact,  pretty 
much  the  case. 

That  evening,  when  Georgie  went  to  her  room, 
she  found  a few  withered  flowers,  lying  on  her  wri- 
ting table,  close  to  her  beautiful  Thomas-a-Kempis, 
two  small  sprigs  of  cedar,  and  a few  faded  blue 
harebells.  Strange  how  they  came  there ; she  did 
not  remember  gathering  them ; but  her  memory 
had  been  somewhat  dulled  by  pain  and  other  emo- 
tions, and  she  so  often  plucked  flowers,  and  brought 
them  to  her  room,  that  she  might  have  done  so  now 
and  forgotten  it. 

Poor  faded  flowers  !”  she  said  sadly,  “ what  are 
you  like  ? I love  you  even  in  decay  ; but  it  is  use- 
less treasuring  you  now.” 

And  with  a sigh  she  swept  them  together,  and 
gave  them  to  the  servant  to  carry  away.  Had  she 
understood  more  plainly  the  language  of  flowers, 
she  would  not  have  done  so. 

They  were  Lloyd’s  silent  messengers  of  compuno 
tion  and  reconciliation. 


LLOYD^S  DISCOYERY. 


“And  wherefore  mourn  the  fading  gleam, 

When  joys  that  cannot  last  decay? 

Who  mourns  when  stars,  that  loveliest  seem, 

Grow  dim  before  the  rising  day  ? 

What  though  e’en  suns  no  more  may  shine, 

Be  there  but  light,  O Lord,  from  thine.” 

^J^^ALTER  sat  by  her  all  the  time,  holding  her 
hand;  and  on  her  lap  lay  an  open  letter 
from  Leonard,  which,  as  though  for  the  very 
purpose  of  cheering  her,  had  arrived  that  morning. 
And  Georgina  did  not  cry.  She  was  not  insensible 
to  the  pain  : she  took  no  chloroform  ; but  a power 
and  strength  greater  than  her  own  upheld  her.  She 
had  prayed  very  earnestly  for  it ; and  it  was  granted. 
She  had  prayed  that  the  presence  of  the  Invisible 
One  might  be  with  her;  and  so  it  was.  Those 
around  her  wondered  how  she  was  so  calm  and  still ; 
how  thnt  young  fragile  girl  could  bear  great  pain  so 
bravely.  They  knew  not  the  hidden  source  of  her 
strength ; how  that,  long  before  the  doctor  came, 
she  had  prayed  for  her  Saviour’s  presence,  and 
begged  him,  in  the  time  of  severe  trial,  not  to  for- 
sake her.  She  pleaded  before  him  the  promise? 


200  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

“ As  thy  days  thy  strength  shall  be and  she  found 
it  realized. 

Mr.  Selfield  spoke  almost  kindly  to  her,  as  he 
laid  her  on  the  sofa,  when  it  was  all  over,  “ You 
are  the  bravest  young  lady  I ever  met  with,”  he 
said : “ and  now  you  must  take  care  of  yourself  for 
the  next  few  days ; and  then  it  will  be  all  right 
again,  I hope.  I shall  look  in  again  in  the  evening ; 
and  Mr.  Lockyer  will  do  all  he  can  to  amuse  you, I 
am  sure.  Did  you  sleep  last  night 

‘‘  No  : scarcely  at  all.” 

“ W ell,  you  will  to-night,  I think,  if  not  before.” 

When  he  was  gone,  Walter  said,  “ Georgie,  shall 
I play  for  you  ?” 

‘‘  Yes,  if  you  please,”  she  answered,  greatly  won- 
dering, at  the  same  time,  whether  he  were  able.  He 
went  to  the  piano,  and  after  striking  a few  chords, 
as  if  to  try  the  power  of  the  instrument,  he  com- 
menced an  exquisite  air  of  Mendelssohn’s — one  of 
his  songs  without  words.  His  touch  was  peculiarly 
soft  and  expressive ; and,  when  the  air  was  ended, 
he  went  through  a series  of  beautiful  variations, 
which  seemed  to  come  into  his  mind  as  he  sat  there ; 
and  so  wonderful  were  the  taste  and  execution  with 
which  he  played,  that  Georgie  raised  herself  a mo- 
ment from  her  couch  to  see  whether  it  really  could 
be  Walter.  Yes,  there  he  sat,  with  his  large  mel- 
ancholy eyes  turned  upwards,  and  an  expression  of 
repose  and  happiness  on  his  countenance  that  she 
had  never  seen  there  before. 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


201 


*‘Doar  Walter,”  she  said,  when  the  last  note 
died  away,  “how  beautiful!  Who  taught  you  to 
play  like  that?” 

“Mamma  first,”  he  answered. 

“ But  I have  never  heard  you  before.” 

“ No  ; this  is  the  first  time  I have  touched  a piano 
in  this  house.  I am  very  glad  you  like  it.” 

“Where  do  you  practise,  then?” 

“ O,  at  Campbell’s.” 

“But  do  my  cousins  know  how  beautifully  you 
play  ?” 

“I  neither  know  nor  care.  I do  not  fancy  I 
should  (wer  play  to  please  them.  But  you  are  to 
be  quiet,  you  know,  Georgie.  Shall  I go  on  ?” 

“ O yes,”  she  said,  laying  herself  back  again.  She 
shut  her  eyes,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  charming  music.  It  soothed  the  strained 
nerves,  which  had  been  wound  up  to  the  very  utter- 
most from  pain  and  lack  of  sleep,  and  in  less  than 
half  an  hour  she  was  in  a deep  slumber.  It  was  just 
what  Walter  had  designed  ; and,  when  he  found  his 
end  accomplished,  he  left  the  instrument,  came  and 
sat  near  his  cousin’s  sofa,  and,  taking  his  little  Greek 
Homer  from  his  pocket,  was  soon  deeply  absorbed 
in  its  contents. 

Frances  came  softly  into  the  room  towards  the 
close  of  the  afternoon.  Both  she  and  Augusta  had 
been  in  great  fright  all  day,  and  to  divert  their  feel- 
ings had  gone  into  Barnes  shopping;  but  Frances 
was  very  feeling,  though  not  courageous. 


202 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ How  is  the  poor  child,  Walter  she  whispered. 

‘‘  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  be  with  her.  I felt  1 
could  not ; and  poor  mamma  does  not  even  know 
what  has  happened  now.” 

“ She  has  slept  the  last  three  hours,  I should  thinks 
What  time  is  it  now 

“ Past  five  o’clock ; and  papa  expects  gentlemen 
to  dinner.” 

Georgie  gave  a turn  and  a slight  sigh  ; then  mur- 
mured  in  a low  voice,  ‘‘  He  won’t  be  angry  with 
me  now.” 

’Tis  that  doctor  she  is  thinking  of,”  said  Wal- 
ter. “ He  scolded  her  yesterday.” 

“ No,  darling,”  said  Frances,  stooping  down  and 
kissing  her,  “ no  one  will  be  angry  with  you ; and 
Mr.  Selfield  was  not  really  angry  : it  is  only  his 
manner.” 

Georgie  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled. 

“ What  did  I say,  Frances 

“ You  thought  some  one  was  angry,  dear ; but 
it  is  a mistake.  How  is  your  poor  hand 

“ Ah  ! I was  only  dreaming — a long,  tiresome 
dream  ; but  it  is  over  now.  O,  my  hand  is  better. 
Have  I really  been  asleep 

“ It  looks  like  it,”  said  Frances,  holding  up  her 
watch.  “ But  I must  go  now,  my  dear,  and  dress 
for  dinner.  I will  send  you  something  nice,  that 
you  can  enjoy.  I suppose  you  will  go  to  mamma’s 
room  soon 

“ No : she  is  to  go  straight  to  bed  from  here, 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


203 


Mr.  Selficld  said,”  answered  Walter,  “ and  not  to 
get  up  to-morrow  till  he  has  seen  her,  unless  he 
says  differently  to-night.” 

“ I must  be  obedient,  I suppose,”  said  Georgie. 
‘‘  If  you  see  auntie,  Frances,  tell  her  I am  better, 
if  you  please.” 

“ I will,  dear  child.  Good  bye,  for  the  present” 
And  she  flitted  gracefully  from  the  room. 

“ How  pretty  Frances  is,  Walter!”  said  Georgie, 
after  her  cousin  was  gone.  “ I could  not  help  won- 
dering what  beautiful  face  it  was  looking  over  me 
when  I woke  up  just  now ; and  it  made  me  smile, 
although  I had  had  such  an  uncomfortable  dream. 
I do  not  think  it  can  be  wrong  to  admire  beautiful 
people 

“No,  of  course  not,”  Walter  replied, 

“ And  yet,  perhaps,  we  are  disposed  to  make  too 
much  of  it.  It  is  a gift  from  God,  like  all  other 
things.  You  have  had  the  charming  talent  of  music 
given  you,  Walter;  and  Lloyd,  of  drawing.  We 
ought  to  use  them  all  for  his  glory.” 

“ I don’t  see  how  beauty  can  be  used  to  please 
God.” 

“ I do,”  said  Georgie  ; “ but  never,  perhaps,  so 
plainly  as  this  afternoon.  Frances’  face  is  enough 
to  cheer  any  one,  however  cast  down  or  full  of  pain 
one  may  be.  Think  how  many  poor  unhappy  peo- 
ple she  might  comfort  even  by  her  smiles  and  kind 
.words.  The  rich  gay  people  she  sees  and  pleases 


204 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


do  not  seem  to  need  it ; but  the  poor  would  value 
it  so.” 

“ I don’t  think  poor  people  trouble  themselves 
much  whether  people  are  handsome  or  not,”  said 
Walter. 

They  may  not  love  them  any  the  better ; but 
Leonard  says  they  have  just  the  same  natural  taste 
for  beautiful  things  that  we  have,  and  that  we  ought 
to  gratify  them  as  much  as  we  can.” 

“ What ! by  taking  beautiful  young  ladies  to  see 
them  r 

‘‘  No,  Walter,”  she  answered^  laughing,  ‘‘  I don’t 
mean  exactly  that ; but  the  thought  came  into  my 
mind  when  Frances  was  looking  at  me  just  now ; 
but  I suppose  I have  not  quite  well  expressed  what 
I meant.” 

“ You  have  moralized  quite  enough,  I think. 
Here  comes  some  ‘ dinner,  or  something  for  you. 
Shall  I feed  you,  like  a baby 

Georgie  laughed  again ; and  so  did  W alter,  as 
she  declined  his  offer. 

‘‘  My  right  hand  will  answer  all  needful  purposes, 
I think.” 

Augusta  came  frightenedly  into  the  room  after 
dinner.  She  was  surprised  to  find  her  cousin  so 
well,  and  in  such  good  spirits.  She  sat  with  her 
some  time.  “ Mademoiselle  Victoire  comes  the  first 
of  October — that  will  be  Monday,”  she  informed 
her.  “ She  will  have  been  gone  nine  weeks.  Her 
sister’s  wedding  has  taken  up  such  a time.” 


LLOYD’S  DISCOVERY, 


'205 


“I  have  got  quite  into  lazy  habits,”  Georgie 
said;  “but  I shall  not  be  sorry  to  settle  down 
again.” 

“ I shall,”  said  Augusta.  “ I never  want  to  set- 
tle down  again  till  I am  married.  Of  course  I 
don’t  want  to  lose  Mdlle,  Victoire  ; but  still  I can’t 
help  being  very  thankful  to  think  that  in  about  a 
year  I shall  be  free.” 

“ Another  year  !”  thought  Georgina,  “ what  may 
happen  before  then  !” 

“There  is  Mr.  Selfield’s  ring,”  said  Walter. 

“ Good  night,  my  dear,”  exclaimed  Augusta,  and 
retreated  hastily. 

The  doctor  entered  ; and  Georgina  was  shortly 
afterwards  despatched  to  her  room.  She  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  weak  she  was  when  she  at- 
tempted to  w^alk.  She  turned  very  pale,  and  was 
glad  to  accept  of  the  maid’s  assistance  to  help  her 
to  her  room.  Walter  was  a little  frightened  ; but 
Mr.  Sel field  assured  him  .that  it  was  nothing  more 
than  was  to  be  expected.  “ But  I think  you  have 
been  a good  nurse,”  he  added  : “ she  seems  in  good 
spirits,  and  doing  even  better  than  I hoped.  She 
must  be  kept  amused,  but  not  try  her  strength 
much  the  next  few  days  ; and  don’t  let  her  get  low- 
spirited.” 

Walter  did  his  best  ^ obey  the  doctor’s  injunc- 
tions ; and  so  did  all  the  others ; and  they  flattered 
themselves  that  they  succeeded.  She  \Yas  very  pa- 
tient, never  complained,  and  always  seemed  quite 

18 


206 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


cheerful  when  others  were  present ; hut  an  inward 
sorrow,  of  which  they  did  not  know,  still  weighed 
upon  her  heart  heavily ; and  many  a sad  tear  did 
she  shed  in  the  quiet  of  her  own  chamber  ; many  a 
painful  regret  did  she  experience  at  the  recollection 
of  her  sinful  passion ; and  what  appeared  to  her, 
her  deep  ingratitude  came  afresh  into  her  mind. 
“ If  I were  only  suffering  for  well-doing,  I should 
find  some  comfort,”  she  often  said  to  herself ; “ but 
I have  done  evil,  and  deserve  to  suffer.  I had  so 
prayed  for  his  conversion ; and  now  he  will  think 
that  religion  is  nothing  but  a name,  that  there  is  no 
reality  in  the  holy  obedient  serving  of  God.”  She 
felt  indeed  that  her  sin  was  put  away  for  Christ’s 
sake;  but  that  the  injury  caused  by  it  to  the  dear 
name  she  loved  might  be  lasting;  and  this  thought 
hovered  round  her  heart  incessantly. 

About  this  time  she  wrote  the  following  letter : 
My  own  dear  Margaret, — It  is  past  the  mid- 
dle of  October,  but  yet  I am  seated  with  the  win- 
dow quite  wide  open,  and  a mild  soft  air,  almost 
like  spring,  blowing  in  upon  me.  In  my  cousin’s 
beautiful  studio  I am  writing — the  room  I have  so 
often  described  to  you — everything  beautiful,  in 
doors  and  out.  Without  there  is  a soft  green  lawn, 
bright  scarlet  geraniums,  and  purple  heliotropes, 
gay  as  in  the  middle  of  summer,  and  untouched  by 
the  least  frost.  The  fountain  is  playing  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  noise  of  its  w^ater  sounds  cool  and 
refreshing,  even  in  this  autumnal  month ; and  the 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


207 


only  sign  that  we  are  just  touching  on  winter  is  a 
few  dead  leaves,  fallen  since  this  morning’s  sweep- 
ing. Trees  in  the  park  beyond,  with  exquisitely 
colored  foliage,  green  preponderating,  but  brown 
and  gold  intermingled.  And  in  doors,  too,  dear 
Margaret,  everything  is  beautiful.  All  sorts  of 
rich  colors,  which  I like  so  much  ; statuettes,  books,, 
drawings ; best  of  all,  that  exquisite  painting  I told 
you  of  long  ago — the  Aruna  maiden  teaching  the 
bold  brave  o-ld  Norwegians : I know  all  the  history 
of  it  now.  And  every  one  is  so  kind  to  me  ! My 
accident  seems  to  have  made  them  all  even  kinder 
than  before;  so  much  more  so  than  I deserve. 
Mdlle.  Victoire  reads  to  me  by  the  hour  ; Francie 
and  Augusta  talk,  and  take  me  pleasant  drives  in 
Francie’s  own  pet  carriage,  with  the  two  white  po- 
nies ; and  Walter  comes  in  of  an  evening,  and  plays 
to  me ; and  once  or  twice  Frances  has  sung  as  he 
played,  O so  beautifully.  And  so  you  will  think 
me  strangely  wilful  and  contrary,  dearest  Marga- 
ret, when  I tell  you  that  I am  dull  and  wearied. 
Can  it  be  the  season  of  the  year  infusing  something 
of  its  sadness  and  melancholy  into  my  heart  ? No, 
it  cannot  be  ; for,  as  I said  just  now,  all  is  bright- 
ness and  cheerfulness  as  yet.  Margaret  dear,  I 
think  I am  getting  home-sick.  I long  so  intensely 
to  see  Beechwood  once  more,  to  be  in  the  dear  quiet 
library  again,  and  see  my  brother  and  you.  I have 
been  too  long  away.  I seem  growiiig  old  very 
quickly,  Margaret.  I am  changed  since  I saw  you  j 


203 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


not  in  my  tastes,  or  my  affections,  or  my  shrinking 
from  the  noise  and  confusion  of  society  ; but  my 
inner  life  has  been  conscious  of  so  many  variations. 
I have  striven  after  much,  and  have  fliiled  so  often ! 
yes,  the  more  I have  sought,  the  higher  I have 
aimed,  the  deeper  I seem  to  have  fallen.  I want 
counsel  and  instruction,  and  I have  no  one  to  whom 
I can  turn.  I have  prayed  so  earnestly  for  patience 
about  Leonard,  and  the  time  of  his  return  ; and 
yet  on  that  very  point  my  mind  is  restless  and  per- 
plexed. Not  only  my  thoughts,  but  my  words  be- 
fore others,  have  been  impatient,  if  not  complaining. 
I seem  leading  a useless  life,  dear  Margaret.  I 
think  of  you,  with  your  classes,  and  your  poor  peo- 
ple, and  your  visiting,  in  all  of  which  I once  shared, 
and  I long  to  be  with  you,  and  fall  again  into  my 
former  quiet  happy  life.  When  I look  onward, 
things  appear  gloomy.  Leonard  speaks  not  a single 
word  of  return  in  his  last  letter ; and  then  I weary 
my  brain  with  surmises  as  to  the  cause  of  his  leav- 
ing England  at  all.  I know  this  is  very  wrong ; 
for  he  asked  me  if  I could  trust  him  about  it  with- 
out knowing,  and  I told  him  I could.  There  is  not 
one,  dear  Margaret,  to  whom  I can  speak,  and  tell 
all  my  troubles,  and  my  inward  weariness  and  anx- 
iety. My  dear  kind  aunt — I feel  quite  sure  she  is 
a true  Christian  ; but  she  shrinks  from  speaking  on 
the  subject.  I often  wish  I could  go  to  my  home 
above,  fly  away,  and  be  at  rest  for  ever  from  the 
noise  and  tumult  and  temptations  of  outward  things, 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


209 


and  the  sin  and  struggles  and  failures  of  the  inner 
life.  To  feel  that  the  battle  is  really  over,  the  vic- 
tory won,  the  last  sin  and  temptation  passed  for 
ever — O what  rest,  what  peace  it  must  be  ! And 
to  be  with  the  Saviour,  to  feel  that  we  shall  no  more 
grieve  him  with  our  forgetfulness,  and  coldness,  and 
wanderings,  but  live  in  the  smile  of  his  approving 
presence  for  ever — how  safe,  how  happy  it  will  be  ! 
It  seems  more  like  going  home,  to  me.  I have  so 
many  dear  ones  safely  landed  there  already,  only 
myself  and  Leonard  to  follow  them.  But  time  tells 
me,  dearest,  that  I must  leave  off.  One  more  thing 
however,  I must  say.  I know  you  take  an  interest 
in  Walter,  and  that  you  have  long  prayed  for  him. 
I don’t  know  what  he  is  feeling,  I have  not  been 
able  to  speak  to  him  for  a long  time ; but  he  is  very 
different,  hardly  the  same  as  when  I saw  him  first, 
ten  months  ago.  He  is  quite  cheerful  sometimes, 
talks  with  my  cousins,  and  goes  to  see  aunt  every 
day.  Only  yesterday  I heard  Augusta  wondering 
to  Frances  what  happy  change  had  come  upon  Wal- 
ter ; and  she  quite  agreed  with  her.  Only  think, 
dear,  if  the  greatest,  happiest  of  all  changes  were 
working  in  his  mind.  It  seems  almost  too  good  a 
thing  to  anticipate  • but  O,  nothing  is  too  hard  for 
our  Heavenly  Father.  Walter  would  make  such  a 
beautiful  earnest  Christian  ; his  whole  heart  goes 
where  his  affection  or  interests  are  placed.  And  so, 
my  own  dear  Margaret,  do  not  forget  to  pray  for 
him,  and  for  your  very  loving  and  affectionate 

18^  Georgina.” 


210 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


And  was  Georgie’s  life  at  this  time,  as  she  sadly 
imagined  it,  a useless  and  an  aimless  one  1 The 
conversation  that  was  passing  in  an  adjoining  room 
at  the  very  time  that  she,  with  tearful  eyes,  was 
writing  to  her  friend  of  her  un worthiness  and  her 
failures,  proved  that  it  was  not  so.  Perhaps  it 
might  have  cheered  her  somewhat,  could  she  have 
heard  it. 

“ Tom,  do  you  ever  read  the  Bible  asked 
Carry,  as  she  brought  in  afresh  supply  of  mulberry 
leaves  for  some  silkworms  they  were  rearing. 

“ No.” 

“ Why  not  f ’ 

“ I don’t  much  care  for  it.” 

‘‘You  would,  though,  if  you  were  to  read  with 
cousin  Georgie  every  morning,  as  I do.” 

“ Do  you 

“ Yes,  and  she  makes  it  so  interesting ; she  ex- 
plains it  as  we  go  along,  and  there  are  such  beauti- 
ful stories  in  the  Old  Testament,  I had  not  the  least 
idea.  Besides,  Tom,  it  is  right  to  read  it,  you 
know.  It  tells  us  how  to  go  to  heaven  ; and  Geor- 
gie says  that  is  the  most  important  thing  of  all.” 

“ I don’t  want  to  go  there  yet,”  said  Tom. 

“ Ah  ! but  supposing  you  were  to  die 

“I  hope  I sha’nt,”  he  answered. 

“But  you  may.  Georgie  had  a little  brother 
and  sister  die  before  they  were  as  old  you  ; and 
they  both  went  to  heaven,  she  says,  because  Christ 
loved  them,  and  they  loved  him.” 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


211 


“ Is  that  whjit  makes  cousin  Georgie  look  grave 
and  serious  so  often 

“ Perhaps  it  is.  You  must  not  ask  her,  though, 
Tom ; she  cried  a great  deal  when  she  told  me ; 
but  she  said  she  should  see  them  again  some  day, 
and  her  mamma  and  her  papa  too.” 

“ I love  her,”  exclaimed  Tom.  ‘‘  But  do  you 
think,  Carry,  she  will  ever  be  able  to  draw  and  cut 
out  things  again.  Isn’t  it  dreadful  about  her  poor 
finger 

Yes,  very;  but  she  will  be  able  to  draw,  I 
know,  as  soon  as  ever  her  arm  comes  out  of  that 
sling.  You  see  it  is  the  left  hand.  But  I am  afraid 
she  won’t  be  able  to  play.” 

“ The  window  is  mended  now,”  said  the  boy ; 
and  then,  after  a minute  or  two,  he  added,  “ Do 
you  think  she  would  mind  my  reading  too  of  a 
morning?” 

‘‘No.  I will  ask  her.”  So  on  the  following 
morning  the  young  untiring  teacher  had  two  little 
pupils  instead  of  one ; and  with  patient  delight  she 
labored  to  make  them  love  that  holy  book  which 
so  long  had  been  precious  to  her,  and  that  Saviour 
who  loved  little  children,  and  had  died  to  save 
them.” 

Six  weeks  after  the  accident,  Georgie’s  hand  was 
perfectly  recovered — disfigured  for  life,  it  is  true, 
but  painless. 

Frances  was  pitying  her  one  day,  and  mention- 
ing a clever  practitioner  in  London  who  manufao 


212 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


tured  artificial  members  of  every  description.  She 
proposed  a journey  to  town  to  consult  him.  Georgie 
declined  for  the  present,  then  looked  at  her  injured 
hand,  and  smiled,  anything  but  sadly,  Frances 
thought,  as  she  surveyed  her  own  beautifully  formed 
hand,  and  wondered  what  she  should  feel  were  it 
deformed  in  a similar  manner. 

November  had  set  in,  bleak  and  dull  and  dreary. 
No,  it  was  not  the  weather  which  had  weighed  on 
Georgie’s  spirits,  and  made  her  sad  and  low.  She 
was  happier  now,  though  she  had  received  no  far- 
ther news  from  Leonard,  and  nothing  more  in  pros- 
pect to  cheer  her  as  to  his  return. 

She  had  received  letters  from  Margaret  and  Mrs. 
Murray,  too — kind,  but  wise.  Was  she  not  dwell- 
ing a little  too  much  on  herself,  and  her  own  feel- 
ings and  efforts?  forgetting  that  it  is  not  what  we 
are  in  ourselves  that  God  regards,  but  only  what 
we  are  in  Christ;  that  God  may  be  glorified  as 
much  by  patient  continuance  in  well-doing  when 
such  is  the  marked-out  path,  as  in  more  active  ex- 
ertion in  his  service.  And  with  much  love  they 
bid  her  take  courage,  and  not  be  cast  down,  but 
throw  the  whole  burden  of  her  sorrow  and  troubles 
on  the  arms  of  her  heavenly  Father,  and  v/ait  pa- 
tiently for  him.  Light  is  sown  for  the  righteous, 
and  joy  for  the  upright  in  heart,”  was  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray’s parting  text,  and  with  trust  and  hope  Georgina 
was  going  on  her  way  once  more.  She  was  like  a 
calm  pure  moonbeam  in  the  gay  flutter  of  excite- 


LLOYD’S  DISCOVERY. 


213 


ment  that  ever  pervaded  the  atmosphere  at  Leigh- 
ton, passing  on  in  it,  but  not  of  it;  and  shedding  a 
steady  light  which  those  that  noted  admired,  though 
they  knew  not  the  source  whence  it  came. 

“ Blessed  are  the  ears,”  writes  one  who  lived  in 
constant  communion  with  the  invisible  One,  “ that 
gladly  receive  the  pulses  of  the  divine  whisper,  and 
give  no  heed  to  the  man}"  whisperings  of  the  world. 
Blessed  indeed  are  those  ears  that  listen  not  after 
the  voice  which  is  sounding  without,  but  for  the 
truth  teaching  inwardly.” 

Many  voices  whispered  and  sounded  in  the  ears 
of  Georgina — undue  love  of  praise,  of  learning,  and 
of  things  beautiful.  To  such  temptations  she  was 
peculiarly  alive;  but  the  divine  power,  working 
and  ruling  within,  was  able  to  close  her  ear  to  the 
fascinations  of  them,  and  to  cause  her  to  listen  anx- 
iously and  with  diligent  heed  to  voices  of  softer  and 
more  hallowed  meaning,  wafted  from  the  heavenly 
country.  And  well  was  it  that  this  calm  peace  was 
dwelling  in  and  sustaining  her  heart.  Those  few 
tranquil  weeks  of  autumn  seemed  a kind  of  lull  and 
preparation  for  a new  and  unlooked-for  trial,  which 
the  snows  and  frosts  of  winter  and  the  chime  of 
Christmas  bells  should  unfold  in  all  its  bitterness. 

‘‘Dear  Frances, — -I  intend  to  be  with  you  to- 
morrow evening,  by  the  eight  o’clock  train,  most 
probably.  Let  my  horse  be  sent  to  the  station  for 
me,  and  anything  you  choose  for  the  traps.  Don’t 
stay  at  home  on  my  account,  if  you  have  any  en- 


214 


THE  brother’s  WATCHW(»RD. 


gageraent,  as,  if  Farrer  accompanies  me,  1 may  not 
be  in  till  the  next  train.” 

So  wrote  Lloyd,  a week  or  two  before  Christmas. 
He  was  fumbling  over  the  papers  in  his  writing- 
desk  for  a suitable  envelope,  when  his  eye  fell  on  a 
note  from  Georgina,  written  to  him  during  his 
former  absence  in  London.  He  took  it  up  and 
looked  at  the  graceful,  delicate  hand-writing.  “Just 
like  her,”  he  said  to  himself — “ everything  she  does 
tells  what  she  is  like ; but  I was  mistaken  in  her 
too.  Constance ! no : I named  her  wrongly ; or 
she  would  not  have  been  unrelenting.  She  might 
have  accepted  my  peace-offering : she  need  not  have 
blazed  abroad  my  foolish  passion.”  “ How  do  you 
know  she  did  f ’ whispered  a voice  which,  strange  to 
say,  had  not  spoken  before ; “ it  is  but  your  sur- 
mise, after  all.”  “ If  not,  why  did  she  so  scrupu- 
lously avoid  me  ? not  even  showing  by  a word  or 
look  that  she  was  willing  to  be  reconciled ; better 
to  have  reproached  me,  than  such  perfect  indiffer- 
ence; I might  then  have  humbled  myself.”  These 
thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  as  he  folded  and 
sealed  his  letter ; then,  rising,  he  pulled  the  bell 
to  give  orders  that  it  might  be  posted.  Williams 
entered. 

“ Here,  take  this  quickly  to  the  office : I shall 
leave  early  to-morrow,  and  want  you  for  some  other 
business  when  you.  come  back.  Stay,  what  have 
you  there  1 — letters  at  this  time 

The  servant  appeared  somewhat  confused : 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


215 


I have  to  beg  your  pardon,  sir,”  he  said,  “ and 
Miss  Archdale’s,  too ; but  I hope  it  was  nothing  of 
consequence,”  he  added  ingenuously. 

But  Lloyd,  who  had  recognized  the  long,  narrow 
envelope,  and  the  clear  writing,  had  already  snatched 
the  note  from  the  hands  of  the  man-rervant,  and  was 
hurriedly  glancing  over  its  contents.  He  felt  the 
color  mounting  to  his  forehead,  and  the  angry  flash 
of  the  eye  could  hardly  be  restrained  ; but  he  would 
not  commit  himself  before  his  servant,  and  inquired, 
swallowing  his  temper  as  well  as  he  was  able, 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? when  ’‘.vas  it  given 
you  ?” 

“The  evening  before  we  left  Leighton,  if  I re- 
member rightly,  sir : you  were  out  at  the  time.  I 
put  it  in  my  pocket  and  entirely  forgot  it.  I hope, 
sir,  it  is  of  no  importance.” 

“Take  the  letter,”  said  Lloyd,  in  a harsh,  decided 
tone;  and  the  man,  vexed  at  his  own  unfortunate 
forgetfulness,  and  his  master’s  evident  displeasure, 
left  the  room  precipitately. 

Bitter  self-reproach,  indignation,  shame,  and 
withal  a sense  of  some  kind  of  satisfaction,  agitated 
the  young  man’s  breast,  as  he  reperused  the  little 
note,  unlike  the  one  he  had  just  been  reading ; for 
it  was  stained  and  blotted  by  her  tears. 

“ ‘ Passion,  ingratitude,  wickedness  !’  no,  you  are 
more  like  an  angel,”  he  said.  “ And  wdiat  a wretch 
I have  been,  accusing  you  of  malice,  poor  blame- 
less little  Constance.”  A third  time  he  read  the 


216 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


note.  “ She  asks  me  to  speak  to  her : well,  you 
shall  know  it  all  soon,  Georgie.  It  was  shame  that 
prevented  me.  But  for  that  man’s  stupidity,  three 
months — no,  not  three  hours  should  have  passed 
without  your  learning  how  I despised  myself,  the 
moment  after  I had  given  way  to  such  unpardon- 
able passion.” 

He  sat  some  time  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
hand,  recalling,  as  far  as  he  could  recollect,  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  last  two  days  at  Leighton.  He 
remembered  with  regret  how  he  had  purposely 
avoided  speaking  to  her  on  the  morning — passed 
her  without  a look  or  a w^ord  at  night,  and  the  in- 
different expressions  he  had  used  with  regard  to  her 
in  his  mother’s  boudoir.  She  was  sleeping,  then, 
however,  he  consoled  himself  by  imagining.  A 
knock  at  the  door  announced  the  return  of  his  ser- 
vant. Again  he  apologized  for  his  remissness, 
hoping  that  it  was  of  no  real  consequence. 

‘‘  It  w’^as  a matter  that  should  have  been  attended 
to,”  said  Lloyd,  with  some  of  his  usual  hauteur. 
“ When  do  you  say  Miss  Archdale  gave  you  the 
letter  f ’ 

“ I have  been  thinking,  sir,  that  it  was  on  the 
Tuesday  afternoon,  as  we  left  the  Thursday  and 
then  added,  for  he  was  beginning  to  feel  his  curiosity 
somewhat  awakened,  “ Howsoever,  it  was  the  day 
but  one  before  the  young  lady  hurt  her  hand  with 
the  picture.” 

“ With  what  picture  ?”  inquired  Lloyd,  roused  to 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


217 


forego  a little  of  his  accustomed  dignity  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  subject : “ I thought  Miss  Archdale 
hurt  her  hand  by  the  falling  of  the  window.” 

“ Yes,  sir,  and  surely  enough  she  did  ; but  I beg 
your  pardon,  I thought  you  might  know  how ; but 
perhaps  the  young  lady  has  not  told.’’ 

“ Told  what  ? I don’t  know  what  you  are 
talking  about.  What  do  you  mean  about  a pic- 
ture f’ 

“ The  picture,  sir,  as  you  brought  away  with  you 
to  Oxford.  I could  not  hinder  myself  from  seeing 
the  accident,  for  I was  in  the  garden  close  by, 
gathering  flowers  for  Hilman.” 

“ Just  tell  me,  will  you,”  said  Lloyd,  speaking 
as  composedly  as  he  could,  for  he  began  to  guess 
what  yet  he  hardly  dared  to  think  of. 

“ Well,  sir.  Miss  Frances  had  just  laid  the  pic- 
ture half  out  of  the  window,  to  dry,  I suppose,  and 
she  was  walking  in  the  garden  with  lady  Legh;  and 
then  Miss  Georgina  comes  into  the  library.  I w\as 
just  gathering  the  cloth-of-gold  rose  then  ; so,  as  I 
said  before,  sir,  I could  not  avoid  seeing  her.” 
Lloyd  moved  his  head  imperatively  for  the  ser- 
vant to  proceed  with  his  story. 

“ Miss  Georgina  was  looking  very  white  and  ill, 
as  I thought,  sir ; but  all  at  once  she  ran  right  across 
the  room ; and  then  I saw  that  the  great  window 
w^as  falling.  I thought  about  the  picture  too,  be- 
cause I knew  as  you  set  store  by  it ; but  before  I 
could  look  she  had  her  hand  on  the  sill,  and  down 
19 


218 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


came  the  window  on  it,  instead  of  on  the  picture ; 
and  then,  as  sure  as  I live,  she  smiled,  and  pulled 
the  picture  out.  As  I said  to  Mrs.  Timmins,  I 
never  saw  such  a thing  in  a young  lady  before,  and 
one  so  delicate  and  pale-like  as  she  was,  too.” 

Lloyd  winced,  and  his  foot  moved  nervously  up 
and  down  upon  the  carpet ; but  he  only  said,  “ Did 
she  seem  much  hurt  at  the  time  ?” 

“ When  she  got  out  her  hand,  sir,  the  blood 
dropped  down  upon  her  dress,  and  I thought  she 
looked  frightened ; but  I was  called  off  just 
then,  and  never  heard  much  more  about  it,  except 
that  my  lady  sent  word  for  Turner  to  go  for 
the  doctor  directly ; and  then  Mrs.  Timmins  wrote 
me  word  as  how  she  had  been  forced  to  have 
her  finger  ampitated;  and  I said  to  myselfj  ‘ No 
wonder.’  ” 

“ But  why  on  earth  did  not  all  this  make  you  re- 
member the  note  exclaimed  Lloyd,  whose  feelings 
were  becoming  almost  unendurable. 

‘‘  Why  really,  sir,  I can’t  think  myself,”  answered 
the  man,  “only  I know  as  I should  never  have 
thought  of  the  matter  again,  if  I hadn’t  been  turn- 
ing out  my  pockets  just  now.  ’Twas  my  best 
livery  suit,  sir ; and  I was  just  brushing  it  up  a 
bit.” 

A loud  knock  and  ring  was  just  then  heard  at  the 
door. 

“ If  that’s  captain  Ross,  say  that  I am  particu- 
larly engaged,”  said  Lloyd;  “ and  come  back  in 


Lloyd’s  discovery. 


219 


about  an  hour  to  do  the  packing.  We  must  be  off 
by  the  first  train  to-morrow  morning.” 

The  servant  left  the  room ; and  Lloyd,  resuming 
his  former  attitude,  murmured  in  a low  remorse- 
ful tone,  “ Never ^ never^  shall  I be  heard  to  swear 
again.” 


XIIL 


THK  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT* 


“ Or  we  may  live  to  feel  ’twas  best 
That  God  denied  our  prayer, 

And  tried  and  prov’d,  till  we  confess’d 
That  waves  and  storms  which  broke  our  rest, 
And  toss’ d us  to  our  Saviour’s  breast. 

Our  richest  blessings  were.” 


T SO  happened  that  the  Leighton  party  had  an 


engagement  on  the  evening  that  Lloyd  was 


expected — sir  William,  his.  two  eldest  daugh- 
ters and  Walter,  who  had  become  much  more  so- 
ciable of  late,  and  who  found,  as  Georgie  told  him, 
that  nauch  of  his  former  neglect  and  discomfort 
arose  from  his  own  moodiness  and  want  of  will  or 
tact  in  accommodating  himself  to  the  ways  and 
wishes  of  the  family. 

“ You  must  do  all  the  welcoming  till  we  come 
home,”  said  Frances,  gaily,  as  she  flitted  into  the 
drawing-room,  with  her  scarlet  opera-cloak,  and  a 
wreath  of  holly-berries  in  her  glossy  hair;  “but 
don’t  sh  up,  you  know,  dear,  later  than  you  like 
Lloyd  will  comfort  himself  with  a cigar  or  a nap,  if 
you  are  tired,  and  like  to  go  to  bed  before  w^e  come 


Monsell. 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


221 


back.  I shall  say  good-night  in  case and  she 
stooped  and  kissed  her. 

Then  Walter  came  in.  His  hair  was  brushed  off 
from  his  wide  forehead  now ; and  he  never  trans- 
gressed by  wearing  his  hat  in  the  presence  of  ladies. 
The  large  black  eyes  flashed  less  frequently  with 
anger,  and  were  often er  lighted  up  with  a glance  of 
happiness  or  eager  interest. 

“ A twelvemonth  ago,  to-night,  that  I saw  you  for 
the  first  time,  Georgie,”  he  said. 

‘‘  Are  things  any  brighter  than  they  were  then 
with  you  she  inquired  softly. 

“ Yes,  very  much : at  least  one  part  of  me.” 

She  guessed  very  well  his  meaning. 

“Ah,  Walter,  there  might  be  peace  and  happi- 
ness within  too,  if  you  really  sought  it.” 

“I  have  been  trying  for  it  months  past,  but  it 
won’t  come.” 

“ You  are  looking  for  it  in  yourself,  perhaps,”  she 
replied ; “ and  if  so,  you  will  never  find  it.” 

“ No,  not  in  myself : I have  been  more  like  the 
rest  of  the  world  lately,  than  ever  before.” 

“ You  will  not  find  it  in  the  world  either,  or  in 
anything  external.  Christ  says,  ‘Take  my  yoke 
upon  you,  and  you  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls.’ 
I have  often  thought  of  the  words — a yoke  to  carry, 
and  yet  rest.  And  they  are  true  words,  too.” 

“ Good  night,  Georgina.” 

“ Where  are  you  going 


222 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


‘‘  To  an  amateur  concert  at  admiral  Blakey’s ; it 
is  the  music  I care  about,  not  the  company.” 

“ Good  night,”  she  replied  ; and  then  she  leaned 
her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  tried  to  finish  the  letter 
that  she  was  writing  to  Margaret.  But  it  would  not 
do  : she  could  not  well  write  that  evening : a strange 
oppression  hung  over  her : each  noise  without  doors, 
each  ring  of  the  bell  made  her  start  and  change 
color,  though  she  knew  her  cousin  could  not  be  ex- 
pected yet.  Little  Carry  came  running  into  the 
drawing-room  to  say  good  night. 

‘‘  Only  a week  more  to  Christmas,  Georgie ; and 
Clara  and  Arthur  come  on  Monday.  Is  it  not  de- 
lightful ?”  She  received  no  answer,  and  looking  up 
saw  tears  in  her  cousin’s  eyes.  “Ah!  you  are 
thinking  about  Leonard,”  she  said,  “perhaps  he 
may  be  here  too.  Mamma  says  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible, because  a letter  may  have  been  lost,  or  gone 
wrong  : don’t  cry,  dear.”  Georgie  kissed  the  little 
affectionate  girl.  “ Why  are  you  sitting  in  here  to- 
night, when  they  are  all  out,  and  there  is  no  com- 
pany ? I thought  you  liked  the  library  best.” 

“ Lloyd  is  coming  home,  you  know,  darling.” 

“ Ah,  yes,  I forgot : he  will  be  pleased  to  see  you 
waiting  for  him,  because  he  likes  you,  Georgie.  I 
heard  him  telling  some  one  so,  one  day,  and  how 
clever  you  were ; and  I said  so,  too.” 

“ Little  flatterer,  you  should  not  tell  people  so  to 
their  faces.” 

“Ah,  but  I love  you;”  and  she  flung  her  arms 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


228 


round  her  cousin’s  neck,  and  embraced  her  most 
warmly. 

“Love  is  very  precious,”  thought  Georgina  to 
herself,  when  the  child  was  gone  : “ if  I have  reaped 
nothing  else  since  coming  here,  the  affection  of  this 
child  is  worth  a long  sowing-time.” 

She  sat  and  waited  : the  time  seemed  long.  The 
footman  came  in  to  arrange  the  fire.  “ Is  this  time- 
piece right,  Charles  she  inquired,  as  it  chimed  out 
nine  o’clock. 

“ Yes,  miss — exactly,  I believe.  Will  you  have 
supper  ?” 

“ No,  I thank  you,”  she  answered ; and  he  left 
the  room. 

She  fancied  that  she  heard  the  sound  of  carriage- 
wheels  coming  up  the  drive.  “ He  rides,”  she 
thought : “ it  cannot  be"  he.”  She  walked  rather 
nervously  about  the  room,  closed  the  piano,  re-ar- 
ranged the  ornaments  scattered  on  the  table,  and 
turned  on  the  gas  more  brightly. 

“ I wish  the  others  had  been  at  home,”  she  mur- 
mured to  herself:  “how  will  he  meet  me?  But  I 
brought  it  on  myself:  I must  bear  the  punishment. 
If  he  is  angry  I will  explain  all — ask  his  forgiveness. 
The  long  absence  may  have  softened  him.”  She 
stopped  her  rnusings  suddenly,  for  there  were  voices 
in  the  hall.  “ It  must  be  Lloyd  ; but — ” and  she 
started — “ there  seems  strange  confusion.”  With 
beating  heart  she  left  the  room,  stole  down  the 
great  stairs,  and  stood  on  the  landing.  What  a 


224  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

sight  met  her  eyes ! They  were  carrying  Lloyd  in. 
A handkerchief  was  thrown  over  his  face  : she  could 
see  that  it  was  saturated  with  blood : he  was  quite 
motionless : she  thought  he  was  dead.  She  gave 
no  cry,  no  shriek,  but,  following  the  frightened  ser- 
vants into  the  nearest  room,  saw  them  place  him  on 
the  bed,  and  heard  the  surgeon  asking  for  water. 
She  went  and  fetched  some  directly ; and  Mr.  Sel- 
field  looking  up,  saw  who  it  was. 

O Miss  Georgina,”  he  said,  I am  thankful  to 
see  you : I can  get  nothing  done : there  is  no  one 
who  possesses  the  slightest  degree  of  capability 
and  Georgie  found  herself  helping  and  directing  with 
a composure  she  herself  wondered  at ; a composure 
external  truly,  but  a heart  sorrowful,  heavy,  almost 
breaking. 

An  hour  passed  : he  was  insensible  still.  W ould 
those  eyes  never  look  up  again  ? They  w^ere  hid 
now  by  the  white  drooping  eyelids,  and  their  heavy 
fringes  contrasted  with  the  marble  face,  so  still  and 
quiet  in  its  pure  outline.  ‘‘  O,  for  one  look  again,” 
thought  Georgie — “ one  word  to  me  to  say  he  has 
forgiven  !”  and  for  a moment  her  forced  calmness 
forsook  her ; and  the  young  girl  was  almost  stifled 
with  the  effort  to  restrain  her  feelings. 

“You  must  be  calm,  indeed.  Miss  Archdale,” 
whispered  the  surgeon  to  her.  “Lady  Archdale 
and  her  daughters  are  in  a pitiable  state.  aJ  could 
on  no  account  allow  them  to  be  here ; and  w>er  must 
have  some  one  who  is  perfectly  still  and>-self-pos- 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


225 


lessed,  as  the  slightest  agitation  may  prove  fatal. 
You  can  be,  if  you  choose,  I know.” 

“ Mr.  Selfield,  do  you  think  he  will  die?” 

“ I cannot  tell : he  is  in  very  great  danger : we 
must  hope,”  said  the  surgeon,  gravely. 

Lloyd  lay  still:  his  breathing  was  heavy  and 
thick : sometimes  he  murmured.  Georgina  could 
not  hear  what  he  said,  distinctly;  but  once  she 
fancied  that  he  called  her ; so  she  took  the  burning 
hand  in  hers,  and  said,  Yes,  I am  here,  dear  Lloyd, 
close  to  you.” 

No  notice  was  taken,  and  he  did  not  speak  again ; 
but  ]\Ir.  Selfield  looked  uneasily  at  him  as  he  saw  a 
dull  stupor  coming  over  him. 

“ What  shall  I do  ?”  said  he  to  himself:  ‘‘  he 
must  be  awakened  from  this  comatose  state.  I 
hope  Sir  John  Cooper  will  soon  be  here : it  is  a 
fearful  responsibility.” 

One  hour  passed  thus;  another  and  another. 
Midnight  came  and  went.  Not  a sound  was  heard, 
as  the  two  sat  silently  by  the  sick-bed ; a strange  con- 
trast, truly — the  man,  past  the  prime  of  life,  gray, 
hard  in  feature,  yet  with  an  expression  of  benevo- 
lence and  kindliness  on  his  face  not  often  met  with 
in  one  who  had  been  tossed  for  many  a long  day 
on  the  tempestuous  sea  of  life;  beside  him  the 
young  girl,  a child  in  years  and  stature,  but  a 
woman  in  action  and  thought ; and  very  fair  and 
fragile  did  that  sweet  face  look,  as  the  dark  blue 
eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  the  cheeks  flushed 


226 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


crimson,  as  she  struggled  to  repress  her  emotion, 
and  to  stifle  the  cry  of  the  heart  which  was  heating 
tumultuously  with  the  burden  of  sorrow  which  no 
others  knew.  It  had  wounded  her  very  heart,  the 
parting  for  three  months  unreconciled ; but  to  part 
for  ever  thus ! And  the  sense  of  eternity,  over  the 
confines  of  which  his  spirit,  all  unprepared,  was 
hovering,  came  over  her  soul  with  an  awful  reality, 
such  as  she  had  never  before  experienced.  Fervent, 
agonizing  prayers  went  up  from  the  side  of  that  bed 
of  suffering  that  night. 

Morning  broke  at  last,  bright  and  beautiful,  glad- 
dening and  refreshing  many  a weary  one ; but  to 
Georgina  it  only  brought  a realization  of  the  sor- 
row which  was  on  the  household. 

And  now  lady  Archdale  had  summoned  up 
nerve  and  resolution  to  enter  the  chamber,  and  she 
insisted  that  her  niece  should  have  some  rest.  Very 
reluctantly  Georgina  was  obliged  to  comply  with 
her  aunt’s  wishes  ; and  she  wondered  to  herself  on 
finding  how  very  weak  she  was  directly  she  left 
Lloyd’s  room.  In  the  gallery  she  mei  Walter. 
He  almost  started  to  mark  her  pale  face,  swollen 
eyelids,  and  trembling  steps;  and  going  up  he 
took  her  hand  gently,  and  led  her  to  the  library. 
A large  fire  burned  upon  the  hearth,  and  with  its 
blaze  illuminated  the  room,  the  shutters  of  which 
had  not  yet  been  unclosed ; for  there  Walter  had 
kept  his  nightly  watch.  He  placed  her  in  a large 
chair  near  it,  for  the  touch  of  her  hand  was  cold, 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


227 


and  he  observed  that  she  shivered ; then,  telling 
her  he  should  bring  some  breakfast,  immediately 
went  out. 

Poor  Georgina,  thus  left  alone,  and  at  liberty 
to  give  free  vent  to  her  feelings,  leaned  back  in 
the  chair  and  wept  passionately.  The  tears  seemed 
to  bring  some  relief.  When  Walter  returned  with 
a tray  containing  a cup  of  chocolate  and  some  dry 
toast,  he  was  glad  to  see  her  look  more  natural, 
though  tearful,  sobbing  still.  He  placed  the  break- 
fast on  a little  table  near,  and  gently  told  her  to 
eat.  She  obeyed  from  a strong  sense  of  duty 
rather  than  choice ; for  she  felt  now  that  her 
strength  must  be  kept  up  if  possible.  But  it  was 
a painful  and  bitter  meal.  Walter  did  not  inter- 
rupt the  silence,  but  sat  gazing  into  the  fire  and  at 
her.  At  length  when  it  was  ended,  she  said, 

“Walter,  tell  me  all  about  it:  I have  not 
heard.” 

He  told  her  then  how  Lloyd,  on  his  way  from 
the  station,  had  been  thrown  from  his  horse.  He 
was  riding  at  more  than  his  usual  speed ; for  the 
train,  Walter  said,  was  late,  and  he  seemed  eager 
to  be  home.  The  horse  had  taken  fright,  and 
thrown  Lloyd  violently,  his  head  striking  against  a 
heap  of  stones  by  the  road-side.  When  the  groom 
arrived  at  the  spot,  his  master  lay  bleeding  and  in- 
sensible. Happily,  at  that  very  juncture,  Mr.  Sel- 
field’s  carriage  drove  past,  bearing  the  surgeon,  who 
had  been  sent  for  to  the  Hall  to  lady  Archdale. 


228 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


With  the  man-servant’s  assistance,  Lloyd  was 
placed  in  the  carriage,  and  brought  slowly  home : 
these  were  the  carriage-wheels  Georgina  had  heard. 

The  poor  girl  listened  to  the  account  with  silent 
anguish ; then  again  leaned  back,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  groaning  aloud.  For  a mo- 
ment it  seemed  as  though  her  great  secret  must  be 
disclosed,  that  she  could  bear  the  burden  alone  no 
longer,  that  Walter  must  know  that  Lloyd  had 
parted  from  her  in  anger.  But  ah  ! that  would  in- 
volve inquiries  as  to  the  cause  ; and  a word  to  his 
disadvantage  ’should  never,  never  cross  her  lips. 
The  thought  silenced  her  : she  only  murmured, 

‘‘  O,  Walter,  if  he  should  die !” 

“ What  does  Mr.  Selfield  say  ? Is  there  hope  1 
Has  he  spoken  ?” 

“ Not  once  coherently,  and  not  at  all  for  hours. 
Mr.  Selfield  thinks  there  is  very  little  hope : he 
believes  him  to  be  rapidly  sinking,  I know.  But 
sir  John  Cooper  will  be  here  soon.  Walter,  I pro- 
mised aunt  to  lie  down  for  three  or  four  hours : 
will  you  let  me  know,  and  have  me  w^aked  if  I am 
asleep  ?” 

He  promised.  Then  she  went  to  her  room,  with 
Mdlle.  Victoire’s  assistance  undressed,  and  soon, 
poor  child,  wearied  and  exhausted  with  prolonged 
and  painful  excitement,  fell  asleep. 

The  physician  from  London,  sir  John  Cooper, 
arrived  in  the  course  of  the  morning.  He,  too, 
shared  Mr,  Selfield’s  fears,  but  approved  of  all  he 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT, 


229 


had  done.  Nothing  more,  he  &aid,  was  wanting : 
they  must  only  wait  for  the  aw^akening  which  might 
never  come  on  earth.  O,  how  bitterly  now  did 
lady  Archdale  reproach  herself  for  the  indolence 
and  apathy  which  had  hindered  her  from  speaking 
to  her  son  on  aught  but  earthly  things  ! Now,  the 
mask  of  reserve  fell  off,  and  she  saw  revealed  in 
true  colors  how  culpable,  how  negligent  she  had, 
been : the  veil  w^as  torn  aw^ay  at  once,  the  barriers 
of  conventionality  were  pulled  dowm,  and  she  knew 
at  once  what  she  had  w^asted  and  misused. 

Three  days  passed  thus — three  dark  and  anxious 
days,  counted  by  weeks  instead  of  hours : they 
seemed  interminable. 

As  much  as  they  would  allow  her,  Georgina  w^as 
with  her  cousin,  composed,  self-possessed,  a treasure 
to  the  doctors.  None  knew  or  guessed  the  deep  and 
restless  feelings  which  lay  hidden  beneath  that  calm 
exterior. 

Lloyd  had  not  spoken  coherently  : he  was  weaker, 
stiller  than  at  first.  He  moaned,  O so  piteously,  it 
went  through  Georgie’s  heart  to  hear  him.  He 
looked  so  ill,  so  helpless,  as  he  lay  there  ; but  to- 
ward the  evening  of  the  third  day,  there  came  a 
little  change.  The  strange  wild  look  was  no  longer 
in  his  eyes  : he  w\as  cooler,  and  not  so  restless. 

“ He  is  better,”  whispered  sir  John  Cooper  to 
Mr.  Selfield.  The  latter  nodded  assent ; and  in 
the  evening,  to  Georgina’s  glad  surprise  and  his 
mother’s  joy,  he  said  quite  sensibly — 

20 


280 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD, 


Mother,  has  Georgina  been  here  ? I thought  1 
saw  her  a minute  ago.” 

“ Yes,  my  dear,”  replied  lady  Archdale,  “ she  is 
here.” 

‘‘  Let  me  see  her,”  said  Lloyd  : ‘‘  Little  Georgie, 
have  you  forgotten  me 

“ O no,  no,  dear  cousin.” 

He  made  a sign  as  though  he  would  speak  a word 
to  her  alone.  She  bent  towards  him. 

“Can  you  have  forgiven  all,  Constance?  I must 
know  before  I sleep,  and  I am  tired.” 

She  pressed  a kiss  upon  his  white  forehead  lov- 
ingly, as  the  surest  token  of  reconciliation  ; for  she 
could  not  speak. 

“ Constance  still,”  he  repeated,  as  though  to  him- 
self, and  smiled  as  he  closed  his  eyes.  Georgie  re- 
treated to  her  place  behind  the  curtain,  and,  taking 
hold  of  her  aunt’s  hand,  sat  silent  and  thankful, 
whilst  her  cousin  slept  calmly  and  peacefully  for 
some  hours.  On  awakening,  though  weak  as  a 
babe,  he  was  perfectly  collected  and  reasonable, 
able  to  express  himself  clearly,  and  so  much  better 
that  sir  John  Cooper  pronounced  all  immediate 
danger  passed,  but  enjoined  perfect  silence  on  the 
part  of  sufferer  and  nurses. 

“ Do  not  be  frightened,  lady  Archdale,”  he  said, 
when  he  was  out  of  the  room,  “ at  the  inflammation 
which  will  probably  supervene.  Of  course  I do  not 
for  an  instant  mean  to  say  that  all  danger  is  over, 
but  I think  there  are  favorable  symptoms  enough 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


231 


to  wan'ant  the  hope  of  your  son’s  recovery.  But 
again  I must  urge  the  complete  silence  which  I 
should  wish  to  be  kept  in  the  sick  room.  Do  not 
allow  any  other  members  of  your  family  to  see 
him  : your  little  daughter  has  shown  wonderful 
presence  of  mind  and  self-control : she  may  be 
there ; but  you  will  acquiesce  in  what  I say  when  I 
tell  you  life  and  death  may  hang  upon  the  necessity 
of  the  slightest  agitation  being  avoided.”  And 
having  concluded  this  unusually  long  speech — for 
the  courtly  old  doctor  was  a man  of  proverbially 
few  words — he  accepted  lady  Archdale’s  offer  of 
refreshment,  and  in  half  an  hour  was  on  his  way  to 
London,  promising,  however,  to  return  the  next 
day. 

Towards  evening  Lloyd  grew  feverish  and  flushed. 
Georgina  was  startled  to  hear  him  again  calling  for 
her,  and  speaking  of  days  and  scenes  of  which  she 
knew  nothing.  Mr.  Selfield  was  prepared  for  this, 
and,  assuring  her  that  there  was  no  fresh  cause  for 
apprehension,  begged  her  to  retire  and  secure  one 
night  of  thorough  repose.  He  then  thought  it  ne- 
cessary to  bleed  his  patient,  as  he  w^as  afraid  of  the 
rush  of  blood  to  the  brain ; and  having  done  so  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  more  composed 
and  tranquil ; and  then,  for  the  first  time  since  he 
had  been  summoned  to  the  Hall,  he  lay  down  on  a 
sofa  in  the  same  room,  and  endeavored  to  get  a little 
of  the  rest  which  he  so  much  needed,  after  his  inde- 
fatigable exertions ; not,  however,  without  leaving 


232 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


in  charge  a nurse  whose  experience  and  vigilance 
could  well  be  trusted. 

The  next  day  Lloyd  was  much  the  same — certainly 
no  worse,  though  he  complained  much  of  headache, 
and  was  irritable  to  an  excess,  allowing  no  one  but 
Georgina  to  attend  upon  him,  and  refusing  to  take 
anything  but  at  her  earnest  persuasion.  Altogether 
it  was  a most  trying  day  to  the  poor  girl ; and 
once  or  twice  her  firmness  was  on  the  point  of  giv- 
ing way  at  his  great  fretfulness ; but  she  bitterly 
reproached  herself  for  this,  when  sir  John  Cooper 
said  to  her  in  the  afternoon — 

“ You  must  not  be  surprised  at  great  irritability 
in  your  brother.  Miss  Archdale : concussion  of  the 
brain  is.  always  attended  by  it ; he  is  not  responsi- 
ble for  his  actions  yet ; and  I know  he  is  suffering 
very  acute  pain.  So  you  must  bear  with  his  com- 
plaints, wearying  as  they  must  naturally  be.  But 
come,  I see  you  are  tired  yourself,  would  you  have 
any  objection  to  showing  me  your  beautiful  gardens, 
of  which  1 have  heard  so  often  1 A little  fresh  air 
will  be  quite  a treat  to  a man  who  is  shut  up  in 
dingy  smoky  London,  as  lam.  Christmas  is  strange 
weather  for  seeing  fine  grounds  to  advantage  ; but 
I think  that  the  exercise  will  do  us  both  good.” 

Georgina  complied,  and  returned  to  the  house 
quite  invigorated  by  the  walk,  which  had  been  made 
pleasant  by  the  cheerful  kindly  words  of  the  phy- 
sician, whom  she  had  undeceived  as  to  her  relation- 
ship to  the  family.  Then,  somehow  or  other,  she 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


233 


had  found  herself  talking  to  him  of  her  own  con- 
cerns, her  past  sorrows,  and  her  brother’s  absence, 
her  hopes  and  fears ; and  insensibly  the  conversa- 
tion had  led  to  higher  themes — the  spirit’s  nobler 
longings,  and  the  life  to  come ; and  so  had  she  been 
comforted  and  refreshed  by  the  friendly  counsel  and 
advice  which  had  come  from  a quarter  where  she 
least  had  expected  it.  O how  unspeakably  blessed 
the  tie  which,  imperceptible  to  all  others,  unites  in 
the  bonds  of  sympathy  and  true  affection  the  hearts 
of  the  faithful ! No  distinction  of  youth  or  age, 
learning  or  ignorance,  wealth  or  poverty  can  break 
it.  The  chord  struck  in  the  heart  of  one  vibrates 
responsively  in  the  innermost  soul  of  the  other. 

Hopes,  longings,  aspirations — all  one : one  Lord, 
one  faith,  one  baptism,  one  God  and  Father  of  all 
— the  earthly  path  perchance  very  diverse,  but  the 
same  home  in  prospect  at  the  end  of  the  journey. 
The  voyage  calm  and  unruffled  to  the  one,  to  the 
other  cloudy  and  tempestuous  and  swelling  ; but 
the  same  haven  awaiting  each — the  same  rest,  the 
same  joy,  the  same  glory.  “ And,  if  here  in  the 
Church’s  low  estate  the  communion  of  saints  be 
blessed,  then  how  great,”  writes  St.  Augustine, 
“ shall  the  joy  be,  in  the  perfect  love  of  the  innu- 
merable company  of  blessed  angels  and  men,  when 
each  shall  love  another  even  as  himself!  for  every 
man  there  shall  rejoice  as  much  for  the  happy  es- 
tate of  each  as  for  his  own  felicity.” 

‘‘In  quietness  and  confidence  shall  be  your 


234 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


strength,”  whispered  Georgie  to  lady  Archdale,  as 
she  left  her  for  the  night,  remarking  that  her  aunt 
seemed  nervous  and  agitated.  “ Dearest  auntie, 
God  has  been  better  to  us  than  our  fears.” 

He  has  indeed,  my  darling ; and  O how  little 
have  I deserved  it!  My  eldest  one,  and  very 
fondly  loved — but  unwisely — I neglected  to  teach 
him  and  the  others  also,  to  seek  first  the  kingdom 
of  God  and  his  righteousness.  Want  of  interest 
and  concern  myself  in  former  years,  and  of  late,  a 
strange  feeling  of  reserve  and  fearfulness  as  to  how 
they  might  receive  it — I have  been  very  unfaithful, 
Georgie;  but  I have  had  a solemn  lesson,  though  at 
the  same  time  a tender  one,  to  show  me  my  past 
error  and  pr^ent  duty.  You  must  pray  for  your 
poor  aunt,  child.” 

The  tears  came  into  Georgina’s  eyes,  as  she 
pressed  her  aunt’s  hand. 

And  I too  have  been  sadly  negligent  and  un- 
watchful, dear  aunt.  I hardly  like  to  think  of  the 
past,  except  as  being  forgiven  for  Christ’s  sake.” 

“ I find  peace  in  that  too,  Georgie,”  she  replied, 
kissing  her.  “Now,  dearest,  do  not  sit  up  more 
than  another  hour:  it  is  only  on  these  conditions  I 
ieav^  you.  You  must  save  yourself  a little  for  all 
our  sakes.” 

“Yes,  I promise  you,  auntie;  but  I must  give 
him  his  night  draught,  you  see,  or  he  would  perhaps 
be  vexed.  How  strange  that  he  will  only  take  his 
medicines  from  one  person  !” 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


235 


From  that  time  Lloyd  gradually  recovered,  but 
very  slowly.  For  some  days  the  progress  was  so 
slight  that  it  was  scarcely  perceptible ; but  still  it 
was  progress.  It  was  a trying  time  both  for  him- 
self and  liis  nurses.  Great  quiet  and  stillness  in  the 
sick  room  were  indispensable;  and  Lloyd,  as  he  be- 
came better,  grew  yet  more  restless  and  fretful,  was 
very  exacting  in  his  requirements,  and  impatient 
when  denied  any  little  wish  that  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon. 

Georgina  was  the  one  who  seemed  best  able  to 
manage  him.  She  coaxed  him  into  acquiescence 
with  the  doctoFs  wishes,  and  gave  up  to  bis  v/hims 
and  caprices  as  far  as  possible;  at  the  same  time 
steadily  refusing  to  talk  more  to  bjrn  than  was  per- 
mitted ; and  the  firm  but  quiet  wuy  in  which  she 
put  her  finger  before  her  lips,  when  she  knew  silence 
was  necessary,  had  more  effect  upon.him  than  all 
Mr.  Selfield’s  admonitions,  or  nurse’s  forebodings 
of  evil  results. 

“ I know  I must  be  a dreadful  bore  to  you  all,” 
he  said  to  her  one  day.  “ I feel  that  I am  awfully 
cross  sometimes ; but  a fellow  must  be  allowed 
that,  when  he  suffers  as  I do,  and  is  not  even  per- 
mitted a good  story  to  amuse  him.  You  must  be 
tired  enough  of  sitting  in  this  stupid  room,  Con- 
stance 

“ O,  no ; I have  my  work  to  amuse  me,  you 
know  ; and  I only  wish  I could  interest  you  more ; 


23G 


TPIE  brother’s  watchword. 


but  Mr.  Selfield  said  I might  read  a little  to  you  in 
a day  or  two.” 

“ O,  for  that  I am  always  interested  when  you 
are  in  the  room  ; but  nurse  is  such  a horrid  old 
croaker,  and  she  makes  me  cross  always  when  you 
are  away,  ready  to  be  smoothed  down  again  on 
your  return.  So  he  said  I might  be  read  to?” 
“Yes;  but — ” she  continued,  hesitatingly,  “no- 
thing exciting,  such  as  poetry  or  novels.” 

“ Nonsense ! And  that  is  all  I care  for.  How 
on  earth  can  it  hurt  me  ?” 

“ Dear  Lloyd,  you  don’t  want  to  be  worse  again ; 
and  Mr.  Selfield  and  sir  John  both  said  that  the 
least  thing  exciting  to  the  brain  .must  be  avoided, 
and  for  that  reason  you  must  be  good  and  quiet 
now.  There,  let  me  give  you  some  grapes,  and  try 
and  have  a little  sleep,  and,  after  dinner,  Francie  is 
to  come  in,  and  see  you  a little.” 

“Well,  then,  come  and  sit  here,  and  give  them 
to  me  ; and,  b say,  do  put  down  that  shutter.  I am 
half  blinded  with  this  strong  light.” 

“ Poor  fellow  !”  thought  Georgina  to  herself ; “ he 
little  knows  how  weak  his  head  must  be;  why  there 
is  scarcely  any  light  in  the  room  as  it  is.”  But  she 
did  as  he  told  her,  and  before  long  he  was  asleep. 

“ Let  us  have  our  chapters  in  Lloyd’s  room  to- 
day,” said  lady  Archdale,  a day  or  two  after  this 
conversation,  as  Georgie  came  in  with  her  Bible, 
for  her  usual  morning  reading.  “ I spoke  to  him 
about  it  last  night ; and  he  said  he  should  like  it.” 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


237 


Ah ! that  will  be  nice,’’  she  answered.  She  had 
been  wanting  to  propose  the  very  thing  herself,  but 
had  felt  some  little  difficulty.  So  every  morning 
and  evening  she  read,  and  sometimes  in  the  day  be- 
sides. Lloyd  never  made  any  remark  upon  it. 
Sometimes  he  would  thank  her  when  she  closed  the 
book,  but  oftener  would  say  nothing  at  all,  but  give 
an  impatient  sigh,  or  call  for  some  trifle  to  be 
brought  him.  But  he  never  interrupted  her  when 
she  was  reading;  and  Georgie  sometimes  sadly 
hoped  that  in  his  heart  he  felt  more  interest  than  he 
chose  to  manifest.  So  she  prayed  on,  and  in  her 
heart  thanked  God  that  this  opportunity  of  hearing 
his  word  was  given  to  her  cousin.  “ It  cannot  re- 
turn void,”  she  said  trustingly  : “ it  must  accomplish 
the  thing  which  he  pleases,  and  prosper ; for  he 
himself  has  said  it.” 

When  Lloyd  became  sufficiently  recovered,  he 
was  taken  by  day  into  his  own  cheerful  room ; and 
very  much  pleased  was  Georgina  when  she  first  saw 
him  established  there  on  a comfortable  lounge  near 
the  fire.  But  he  seemed  low,  and  out  of  spirits. 

It  may  be  months  before  I touch  that  again,” 
he  said,  pointing  to  his  easel.  Mr.  Selfield  has 
some  cram  about  its  hurting  my  brain,  as  though 
that  were  not  sound  enough  now.  Why,  if  I were 
a confirmed  maniac,  he  could  not  talk  much 
worse.” 

“ Well,  it  is  best  to  be  a little  too  careful,  is  it 
not  ? And  now,  Lloyd^  you  must  net  be  gloomy 


238 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


the  first  time  of  coming  into  your  nice  beautiful 
room  : only  look  at  the  flowers.” 

“I  do  n’t  care  for  flowers  just  now.  I want  to 
paint.  I have  an  idea  in  my  head  that  I long  to 
carry  out.” 

“ You  will  be  able  to  do  so,  before  very  long,  1 
dare  say.  Shall  I read  to  you  a little?  or  will  you 
have  something  to  take?  You  must  be  tired,  I 
know.” 

“ No : I’m  not  tired — only — ” for  he  caught  sight 
that  moment  of  her  pale  face,  as  still  and  unruffled 
as  his  own  was  discontented,  and  noticed  a little 
touch  of  weariness  in  the  calm  soft  voice — “ only, 
little  Constance,  shamefully  perverse.  You  must 
forgive  me.  Yes,  I should  like  you  to  read  a little 
presently ; but  you  look  so  white  and  tired.  Come, 
and  sit  down  and  talk  a little.”  She  obeyed  him. 
After  a little  pause,  he  began  : “ Georgina,  I have 
never  been  able  to  speak  about  it  yet,  but  if  you 
knew  how  I hate  myself  every  time  I think  of  my 
shameful  behaviour  to  you — this  room  reminds 
me.” 

“ O hush,  Lloyd  ! Do  not  speak  of  that  now — 
never  again.” 

“ You  know  about  it,  then  ?” 

“Yes,  Williams  told  me,  the  night  after  your 
accident,  about  his  forgetting  the  note.  Poor  fel- 
low ! He  was  so  sorry.” 

“ Sorry  ! and  I was  half-mad.  Georgie,  I said 
then  you  w'ere  like  an  angel,  and  I think  so  still 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


239 


And,  then,  in  the  face  of  it  all — ah ! your  poor  lit- 
tle hand.  If  you  have  forgiven  me,  I shall  never 
forgive  myself.  I should  have  burned  that  picture, 
had  I known  it,  at  the  time.” 

‘‘  What  picture  asked  Georgina  quickly.  “No 
one  knew,  no  one  saw.” 

“ Yes,  Williams  saw.  I know  it  all.  Can  you 
forgive  me,  Constance 

“ Do’n’t  ask  it,  Lloyd.  You  have  never  given 
me  your  forgiveness  yet.” 

He  did  not  answer  this ; only,  after  a moment’s 
silence,  in  a low  tone,  and  with  averted  face,  he 
said,  “ I have  never  sworn  since,  Georgie,  and 
never  intend  to.  You  gained  your  point,  if  that  is 
any  compensation  for  all  you  went  through.  But, 
still,”  he  continued,  as  though  anxious  now  to  have 
a full  explanation,  “ why  did  you  not  accept  my 
flowers  ! I thought  you  might  have  understood.” 

“ What  flowers she  asked  anxiously,  and  a dim 
vision  of  faded  flowers  in  connection  with  that  ter- 
rible night  gleamed  through  her  mind. 

“ I put  them  myself  on  your  table,  and  fancied 
they  would  speak  your  name,  and  ask  my  pardon 
as  plainly  as  I could.” 

Georgina  could  have  cried  as  she  remembered 
their  fate. 

“ It  would  have  saved  me  a great  deal  of  misery,” 
she  said ; “ but,  O Lloyd,  it  is  all  passed  now. 
You  will  not  speak  of  it  again,  will  you  f’ 

“ I make  no  ^ash  promise,”  he  answered.  “ Is  ^ 


240 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


it  not  strange,  Georgie,  that  you  don’t  hear  from 
Leonard 

The  tears,  restrained  before  with  difficulty,  now 
dimmed  her  eyes  ; “ I can’t  understand  it.  I try 
not  to  think  about  it  too  much,  but  cannot  prevent 
myself.” 

‘‘  I can’t  think  how  you  take  it  so  patiently  ; and 
then  I worry  you  so  with  my  ill-temper.” 

“ Hush,  hush ! You  do  not  at  all.  And,  be- 
sides, Lloyd,  after  all,  it  must  be  right.  God  is 
watching  over  Leonard  more  carefully  than  I could, 
and  he  will  bring  him  back  to  me  in  the  right 
time.” 

‘‘  Well,  I wish  I were  as  resigned  as  you.  But  I 
never  shall  be ; so  there  is  an  end  of  the  matter. 
What  is  that  book,  Constance,  which  you  were  read- 
ing to  Caroline  last  summer  when  I took  you  by 
surprise  in  the  park  ?” 

“ I forgot.  I thought  we  were  talking.  What 
was  it  about 

“ O some  good  book,  of  course — not  exciting  ; 
some  Hopeful  or  other ; and  they  appeared  just  to 
have  forded  a river.” 

“ Ah ! I recollect : it  was  ‘ The  Pilgrim’s  Pro- 
gress,’ was  it  not 

“ I don’t  know ; perhaps  so.” 

‘‘Would  you  like  to  hear  it?  It  is  beautiful.” 

■’  “ I don’t  care.” 

Georgina  was  glad  of  only  this  slight  encourage- 
ment, and  hastened  to  fetch  her  favorite  book, 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


241 


which  she  was  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
reading  to  her  cousin. 

From  day  to  day  she  read,  but  never  to  the 
neglect  of  the  Bible,  and  Lloyd  appeared  well 
pleased.  The  simple  but  quaintly-eloquent  lan- 
guage impressed  him,  though  the  meaning  often- 
times seemed  a hidden  thing.  Once  he  asked 
Georgina  a question  as  to  its  signification.  ‘‘  You 
must  imagine  yourself  talking  to  Caroline,”  he  said, 
“ I am  about  as  ignorant  on  the  subject  as  she  was, 
and  you  were  giving  her  quite  a small  sermon  that 
day.” 

Georgina  smiled.  ‘‘  The  meaning  is  the  most 
beautiful  part,”  she  said : “ I should  not  have  un- 
derstood it  as  I do,  had  it  not  been  for  Leonard.” 
But  she  could  not  quite  turn  Lloyd  into  Caroline ; 
and  he  said  nothing  more  about  sermons. 

One  day,  on  coming  into  the  room  unexpectedly, 
she  found  her  cousin  with  the  book  in  his  hands. 
He  closed  it  hastily  as  she  entered,  and  made  an 
indifferent  remark  on  the  fineness  of  the  edition, 
and  the  softness  and  beauty  of  the  plates.  But, 
when  she  took  it  up  the  next  time,  she  found  two 
pages  turned  down,  not  by  herself.  The  first  pointed 
to  the  words,  “ Flee  from  the  wTath  to  come the 
other  to  the  passage  where  Christian  is  represented 
as  losing  his  burden  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  Her 
heart  thrilled  gratefully.  “ Can  it  be  that  his  heart 
is  even  now'  occupied  wfith  thoughts  of  his  eternal 
safety  ?”  she  thought. 

21 


242 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


There  was  no  external  naanifestation  of  such  being 
the  case,  certainly.  He  was  impatient  and  restless 
as  ever ; more  so,  indeed,  complaining  sadly  of  his 
privations,  as  he  called  them,  and  at  the  same  time 
so  weak  that,  if  he  ventured  to  join  in  any  conipany, 
or  make  the  slightest  exertion,  his  increased  debil- 
ity the  following  day  was  most  painful  to  witness. 
His  former  gay  carelessness  of  manner  had  quite 
forsaken  him,  and  the  habitual  expression  of  his 
fine  handsome  features  was  weariness  and  dejection, 
except  when  roused  to  interest  either  by  Georgina’s 
reading,  or  soothed  by  the  conversation  and  atten- 
tions of  his  mother  and  sisters  into  a temporary 
forgetfulness  of  himself. 

• ‘‘This  will  never  do,”  said  Mr.  Selfield  to  lady 
Archdale,  one  day,  when  she  had  been  complaining 
of  his  increased  dulness  and  low  spirits.  “ He 
must  have  change  of  air  and  scene.  He  should  be 
making  more  progress  now ; but  it  is  difficult  to 
know  where  to  send  him.  London  is  too  exciting 
just  at  present;  the  sea  a little  too  cold;  and  he 
should  be  among  friends,  too.  Miss  Georgie,  what 
can  you  suggest?” 

“ Beechwood,”  she  replied,  in  a low  tone. 

“ Yes,”  said  Lady  Archdale,  “ the  very  place  it- 
self. But  would  he  like  it  ?” 

“ I think  so.  And  I could  go  and  take  care  of  him.” 
Lloyd  entered  just  then.  He  raised  his  eye* 
brows  inquiringly,  and  asked  what  they  were  talk 
ing  about. 


THE  FEARFUL  ACCIDENT. 


243 


“ About  sending  you  off,”  replied  the  doctor. 
‘‘  A young  lady  here  has  volunteered  to  go  and  take 
care  of  you,  entertain  you  at  her  own  house,  too — 
will  you  go 

“I  don’t  care,”  said  Lloyd.  “Better  there,  per- 
haps, than  anywhere  else.  I don’t  wonder,”  he 
continued,  with  more  of  his  old  good-humor  of 
manner,  “ that  you  are  all  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me.  I 
feel  a kind  of  incubus  to  myself  and  every  one  else.” 
“ Not  quite  that,  my  dear  boy,”  said  his  mother ; 
“ but  a change  seems  really  needful  for  you.  The 
Rectory  is  just  unoccupied,  and  Georgie’s  plan 
really  seem# a feasible  one.” 

“ You  do  not  want  any  more  of  my  medicines,” 
continued  Mr.  Selfield,  going  up  to  Lloyd,  who  had 
thrown  himself  upon  the  sofa,  and,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  “ All  you  require  now  is  good 
air,  good  cheer,  and  good  spirits.” 

“ One  more  thing  still,”  thought  Lloyd,  to  him- 
self; but  he  did  not  say  so.  “Well,  I hope  I may 
pick  them  up  at  Beechwood,”  he  replied,  carelessly, 
and  with  a forced  smile. 

“ I can  trust  Miss  Georgina  for  doing  her  part,” 
said  Mr.  Selfield.  “Sir  John  and  I talked  seriously 
of  giving  her  a diploma.  She  would  make  a capital 
doctor.”  And  with  this  con^pliment  and  a bow  to 
all,  he  took  his  leave. 

The  following  week  saw  Georgina,  her  cousin, 
and  their  attendants  on  the  way  to  Beechwood,  with 
the  arrangement  that  Lady  Archdale  was  to  follow 
when  the  spring  was  a little  more  advanced. 


XIV. 


PE:&CS  SOUGHT  AND  FOUm 


The  rest  of  a happy  child 
Led  by  the  Father  on, 

Feeling  his  smile  and  reconciled 
To  all  that  he  has  done — 

Of  one  who  can  meekly  bend 
’Neath  my  yoke,  with  me  beside ; 

Of  a soldier  who  knows  how  the  fight  will  end 
With  a Leader  true  and  tried — * 

The  rest  of  a subject  heart. 

Of  its  best  desires  possest : 

Come,  all  that  are  heavy  laden 
And  I will  give  you  rest.” 

dear  old  home  again;  the  village  street, 
all  in  the  dimness  and  indistinctness  of  twi- 
light; the  neatly-kept  cottages;  the  church; 
the  well-known  garden ; the  clang  of  the  iron  gate ; 
and  then  the  house  itself,  lighted  up  earlier  than 
usual  to  welcome  the  travellers ; the  kindly  faces 
of  the  servants,  not  excepting  Mrs.  Airey,  who  re- 
ceived her  with  a hearty  embrace — O how  natural 
did  all  seem  to  Georgina ! She  smiled  and  wept 
by  turns,  hovering  all  the  while  about  her  cousin, 
fearing  lest  he  should  find  himself  neglected  in  the 
midst  of  the  little  tumult  of  joy  occasioned  by  her 
return. 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


245 


“ Mrs.  Murray  was  here  not  an  hour  ago,”  said 
the  housekeeper,  as  she  conducted  them  to  the  li- 
brary, where  a bright  fire  was  blazing,  and  tea  ar- 
ranged for  their  refreshment,  “ and  brought  these 
flowers,”  and  she  pointed  to  a vase  of  rare  green- 
house blossoms  upon  the  table. 

How  kind,”  exclaimed  Georgina;  and  she  was 

well 

“ Yes ; and  Miss  Murray  too,  miss ; they  desired 
their  love  to  you,  and  hope  to  call  to-morrow.” 

She  went  to  her  old  bed-room  then,  to  change 
her  dress  before  tea.  Varied  emotions  of  sorrow 
and  gratitude  and  hope  mingled  in  her  heart,  as 
Leonard’s  picture,  hanging  in  its  accustomed  place, 
met  her  eye.  Before  rejoining  her  cousin  she  knelt 
and  thanked  her  heavenly  Father  for  bringing  her 
once  more  back  to  her  earthly  home  in  safety,  and 
prayed  very  earnestly  for  her  brother,  asking  for 
continued  submission  and  trust  in  reference  to  him. 

She  found  Lloyd  come  down  from  his  room,  and 
in  better  spirits  than  she  could  at  all  have  antici- 
pated. 

“ W ell,  little  Constance,  you  have  a charming 
retreat  here ; but  Leonard,  I am  afraid,  will  not 
thank  you  if  he  comes  unexpectedly  and  finds  a 
great  cuckoo  in  the  nest.” 

‘‘  You  are  no  cuckoo  at  all,”  she  said,  laughing ; 
“ but  you  must  be  a reasonable  and  obedient  man, 
and  not  expect  to  sit  up  to  the  table  to  tea  to-night. 
Remember,  I am  doctor  and  nurse  both  now,” 

21^ 


246 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“Well,  where  do  you  wish  me  to  sitf^ 

“ Why,  either  on  the  sofa  or  in  this  very  easy 
chair,  which  is  Leonard’s ; and  I shall  bring  you 
your  tea  on  this  small  table.  You  are  tired,  you 
know.” 

“ No,  not  so  much  as  I expected ; and  it  rests  me 
to  look  round  upon  this  room,  and  you.  You  are 
looking  better  already.” 

She  busied  herself  with  her  tea  things,  and  Lloyd 
watched  her  contentedly. 

“ What  sort  of  a woman  is  Mrs.  Murray  he  in- 
quired, when  tea  was  over,  and  Georgie  had  settled 
herself  to  her  work. 

“ I think  you  will  like  her.  She  is  very  well  ed- 
ucated and  intelligent : she  plays  and  sings  very 
beautifully,  and  then  is  so  gentle  and  motherly,  and 
such  a real,  earnest  Christian.” 

“ What  is  that  he  said,  carelessly. 

Georgina  looked  up  fi*om  her  work,  and  did  not 
reply  for  a moment.  She  had  half  forgotten  to 
whom  she  was  speaking. 

“ Am  I one 

O how  could  he  ask  such  a question  so  indiffer- 
ently ! And  the  hope  which  she  had  fondly  encour- 
aged for  the  last  weeks  faded  almost  away  as  she 
answered  seriously,  “ I think  our  own  hearts  must 
answer  that  question  best.” 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes  after  this 
reply,  only  broken  by  Lloyd’s  humming  the  words 
of  a song  in  a low  tone.  Then  he  continued  the 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


247 


conversation  about  Mrs.  Murray ; but  Georgie  felt 
a little  disheartened.  She  proposed,  however,  the 
accustomed  reading  before  retiring  to  rest ; and  he 
made  no  objection.  She  chose  the  first  epistle  of 
St.  John;  and,  when  she  came  to  the  tenth  verse 
of  the  last  chapter,  a response,  as  it  were,  to  the 
urgent  question  which  Lloyd  had  proposed  to  her 
with  such  apparent  levity,  she  could  not  refrain 
from  pausing  a moment  and  glancing  at  his  counte- 
nance. It  was  half  turned  from  her ; and  on  it  was 
an  expression  of  such  extreme  suffering  that  she 
could  not  venture  to  speak  the  words  which  had 
risen  to  her  lips,  but,  ere  he  had  time  to  notice  the 
pause,  resumed  her  reading;  and,  when  it  was 
ended,  and  she  rose  to  say,  ‘ Good  night,’  the  look 
had  passed  away — his  face  was  composed  and  un-‘ 
concerned  as  before. 

“ O Lloyd,”  she  said,  as  she  took  his  hand  at 
parting,  ‘‘  you  cannot  have  any  true  happiness  or 
rest,  until  the  question  you  asked  just  now  is  set- 
tled. Out  of  Christ  there  is  neither  peace  nor 
safety.” 

She  had  never  spoken  so  plainly  to  him  before ; 
and  even  now  the  effort  that  it  cost  her  made  the 
color  come  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  hand  tremble 
nervously.  He  looked  down  upon  her  sternly, 
proudly,  for  a moment,  then  said,  “ Thank  you,”  in 
a cold  tone,  which  almost  frightened  her  as  she 
turned  away  and  left  him  to  himself. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone  he  leaned  his  face  upon 


248 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


his  hands  and  sighed  bitterly.  “ O what  a hypo- 
crite I am,”  he  murmured,  to  affect  indifference 
on  a matter  which  is  now  the  all-absorbing,  all-en- 
grossing subject  of  my  existence ! — the  idea  which 
swallows  up  all  others,  and  casts  an  impenetrable 
shadow  on  all  that  once  was  beautiful  and  pleasant 
to  me,  and  all  that  even  now  might  soothe  and  in- 
terest. O life ! O death  ! O eternity  ! I am  fit 
for  neither.  I am  a sin-bound  man,  and  to-night 
have  but  added  another  to  the  great  load  which  is 
crushing  me  to  the  very  earth.  Yes,  the  words  of 
that  book  are  all  beautiful,  but  they  are  not  meant 
for  me.” 

Tears,  drawn  forth  by  the  very  anguish  of  his 
soul,  fell  on  the  book  before  him  ; while  Georgie, 
in  the  silence  of  her  room,  was  weeping  and  pray- 
ing for  one  who  she  sadly  imagined  felt  but  little 
real  concern  and  anxiety  for  his  own  soul’s  welfare. 

Morning  came — very  bright  and  beautiful.  Lloyd, 
who  had  passed  a wakeful,  restless  night,  was  very 
late  in  coming  down  stairs.  Georgina  was  waiting 
breakfast  for  him  in  the  library,  which,  in  the  light 
and  beauty  of  that  early  spring  morning,  looked 
even  more  cheery  and  home-like  than  on  the  pre- 
ceding night.  The  sweet  happy  face  of  his  little 
cousin,  and  her  cheering,  pleasant  words,  enlivened 
him  ; and  he  could  not  but  smile  in  return  as  she 
welcomed  him. 

‘‘  You  are  better  already,  Lloyd,  I believe.  How 
did  you  sleep  ?” 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AKD  FOUND. 


249 


O,  not  particularly  well ; but  that  is  nothing 
new.” 

“ Do  you  think  you  shall  feel  able  for  a walk 
this  naorning  1 I want  to  show  you  all  the  beauties 
of  the  place  ; and  you  know,  when  the  weather  is 
warm  enough,  there  is  a charming  fishing  stream 
not  more  than  a mile  from  here,  where  you  will  be 
able  to  amuse  yourself  catching  trout,  l)y  the  hour.” 

“ That  sounds  inviting.  And  you  can  read : 
your  voice  would  scarcely  frighten  away  the  fish,  I 
imagine.” 

“ Yes,  or  draw.  I think  I shall  take  sketches 
now  of  all  the  pretty  places  round.  The  air  is  ex- 
quisitely soft  to-day.  April  is  the  loveliest  month 
of  all  sometimes.” 

“ So  changeful,”  said  Lloyd.  “ I cannot  endure 
that  in  anything.  I love  the  Mediterranean,  with 
its  smooth  unebbing  waters  ; the  intense  blue  of  a 
perfectly  clear  Italian  sky,  without  speck  or  cloud  or 
variation;  the  unfading  green  of  the  laurel  and 
cedar-tree;  and  you,  little  Georgie,  who  are  always 
constant.” 

“ O no,  not  always,”  she  said,  very  seriously. 
He  took  no  notice  of  her  remark. 

“ There  is  something  to  me  so  beautiful  in  the 
idea  of  unchangeableness — a person  or  object  which 
is  always  the  same — which  you  can  count  upon  that 
it  will  not  alter.  What  a pity  it  seems  that  in 
everything  in  nature  this  should  be  the  exceptionj 
and  not  the  rule !” 


250 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ Not  even  the  exception,”  said  Georgina,  “ It 
is  a perfect  impossibility.  The  beautiful  tideless 
Mediterranean  has  its  fatal  storms  and  tempests: 
the  calm  blue  sky  is  overclouded  sometimes.  And 
the  evergreen  of  the  cedar  and  laurel  is  not  the 
same  : the  old  leaves  wither  and  die.  It  is  a law 
of  nature  that  everything  here  must  change.” 

“ ’Tis  a bitter  law,”  said  Lloyd,  in  a low  melan- 
choly tone.  And  Georgie  longed  to  speak  to  her 
cousin  of  him  who  is  the  same  yesterday  and  to- 
day and  for  ever,  the  Unchangeable  One ; and  of 
the  home  incorruptible,  undefiled,  and  that  fadeth 
not  away,  prepared  in  heaven  for  those  that  love 
him  ; and  of  the  rest,  even  here,  which  they  who 
believe  “ do  enter  into.”  But  she  remembered  her 
repulse  the  night  before,  and  was  silent. 

Before  the  breakfast  things  were  removed,  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door. 

“It  is  Mrs.  Murray,”  exclaimed  Georgina:  “I 
know  her  knock.”  And  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

“Well,  don’t  alarm  yourself.  Your  face  is  be- 
coming more  the  color  of  a flamingo  than  anything 
else.  She  will  think  we  have  been  quarrelling.” 
Georgie  was  calm  instantly. 

“ Do  you  mind  her  coming  in  here  ?” 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  door  opened,  and  Mrs. 
Murray  and  Margaret  were  announced.  The  two 
friends  had  a long  silent  embrace  ; during  which 
time  Mrs.  Murray,  in  her  easy  courteous  manner, 
introduced  herself  to  Lloyd,  begging  his  forgiveness 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


251 


for  this  intrusion,  as  she  had  not  the  least  idea  he 
was  in  the  room. 

Then  she  turned  to  Georgie,  and  welcomed  her 
fondly.  “ My  darling  child,  how  you  are  grown 
and” — improved,  she  was  going  to  say,  but  stopped 
herself — “how  well  you  are  looking.  Captain 
Archdale,  lam  sure  we  have  to  thank  you  for  tak- 
ing so  good  CvTre  of  her.” 

“ All  contraire,”  said  Lloyd  ; “ it  is  Georgina 
who  has  taken  care  of  me  : you  will  say  I do  her 
credit  also,  I think.” 

“ A little  more  care  will  not  hurt  you  yet,  I 
think,”  replied  Mrs.  Murray,  glancing  at  the  thin 
white  hand  which  he  was  passing  across  hi^brow. 

“ They  tell  me  I need  rest  and  change ; and  so  I 
must  believe  them,  I suppose ; but  I feel  pretty 
well,  only  lazy  and  cross,  eh,  Georgie  1” 

Georgina  smiled ; and  presently  Lloyd  went  out 
of  the  room. 

“He  is  not  strong,  and  cannot  very  well  enter- 
tain strangers,  dear  Mrs.  Murray,”  said  Georgie,  by 
way  of  apology. 

“ No  ; and  we  will  not  keep  you  long,  darling  ; 
but  we  felt  we  must  call  and  inquire  for  you  both. 
He  looks  very  ill,  my  dear,  still.  Is  it  not  a great 
responsibility  for  you  ?” 

“ But  he  is  so  much  better.  Six  weeks  ago  he 
was  a mere  shadow : now  his  appetite  is  very  good  ; 
and  though  he  looks  so  thin,  yet  he  is  stronger,  and, 
there  are  no  alarming  symptoms  whatever.  Aunt 


252 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


is  coming  soon,  when  the  weather  is  a little  more 
settled ; and  I trust,  with  God’s  blessing,  he  may 
go  on  well  till  then.  But  his  spirits  are  depressed  : 
he  seems  so  low  and  restless  at  times.” 

“ It  is,  perhaps,  more  mental  than  physical  de- 
pression which  keeps  him  low,”  remarked  Mrs. 
Murray.  ‘‘  Is  his  mind  at  rest  on  the  great  ques- 
tion f ’ 

“ O no,  I am  afraid  not.  I fear  sometimes 
whether  he  thinks  of  such  things  at  all.  But,  then, 
he  is  so  reserved;  and,  whatever  he  was  going 
through  in  his  mind,  he  would  not  perhaps  speak  of 
it  to  others,  and  cannot  endure  to  be  spoken  to,  on 
the  subject  either.  Sometimes  I do  think  that  if  he 
were  happy  in  his  mind  he  would  get  well  sooner — 
that  there  may  be  some  great  load  upon  his  heart, 
which  he  cannot  tell  to  any  one.” 

“ Then  you  think  that  his  illness  and  wonderful 
recovery  have  had  the  effect  of  awakening  him 
“ W ell,  I have  hoped  so,  dear  Mrs.  Murray.  He 
is  very  different  from  what  he  was ; but,  again,  I 
think  that,  after  ‘ all,  it  may  be  merely  physical 
weakness,  and  that  if  he  had  strength  and  energy 
his  tastes  would  still  lead  him  to  be  as  gay  and  un- 
concerned as  ever.  But,  O,  I cannot  tell ! I wish 
Leonard  were  here.” 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  spoken  her  brother’s 
name;  and  in  doing  so  she  burst  into  tears,-i and 
threw  herself  into  Mrs.  Murray’s  arms. 

“ Dear  Mrs.  Murray,  the  time  has  been  so  Icng.’^ 


Peace  sought  akd  found. 


253 


'‘My  poor  child,  t feel  very  much  for  you  ; hut 
you  must  not  be  cast  down.  Your  patience  has  had 
a long  trial ; but  not  at  all  longer  than  your  heav- 
enly Father  sees  best ; and,  when  the  waiting-time 
is  over,  and  every  purpose  for  which  it  has  been 
sent  Is  accomplished,  how  happy  the  meeting  will 
be  1” 

“ You  do  not  think,  then,  that  anything  is  amiss 
“ Not  at  all.  It  is  more  than  probable  they  have 
been  delayed  at  the  Cape  or  elsewhere.  I myself 
was  once  five  months  in  returning  from  India.” 

“ It  is  longer  than  that  since  I heard,”  said  Geor- 
gie,  mournfully. 

“Well,  darling,  all  must  be-,  all  is,^  well  for  you. 
You  must  have  trust  and  hope,  my  child.” 

“ It  is  a great  joy  to  see  you  once  more ; and 
now  that  I am  home,  I seem  all  ready,  waiting  for 
Leonard  at  my  post,  do  I not,  Mrs.  Murray  ?” 

“ I hope  so,  dear ; and  that  reminds  me  we  must 
not  linger.” 

“ Not  yet,  mamma,”  whispered  Margaret. 
Georgie  glanced  at  her  lovingly.  “ I will  come 
and  see  you,  Maggie,  as  soon  as  ever  I can ; but  I 
promised  Lloyd  to  walk  at  half  past  twelve,  and  he 
does  not  like  to  be  disappointed.” 

“ Poor  Georgie  !”  exclaimed  Margaret,  as  soon  as 
the V had  left  the  house.  “ She  must  have  enough 
on  her  hands,  mamma  : all  this  terrible  uncertainty 
about  her  brother,  and  captain  Archdale  to  take 
care  of  as  well,  looking  so  ill— so  gloomy  too,  and 
22 


254 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


haughty.  He  ignored  my  presence,  mamma,  en- 
tirely.” 

“ He  is  unhappy,  evidently,”  said  Mrs.  Murray, 
‘‘  his  very  smile  told  that ; but  if  any  one  could 
soothe  and  benefit  him  it  must  be  our  little  Georgie. 
Dear  girl,  how  she  is  grown,  and  how  lovely  her 
sweet  face  is  become  !” 

I am  afraid  we  shall  not  see  much  of  her  now,” 
Margaret  said  with  a sigh.  And  this  proved  to  be 
the  case. 

“ What  an  age  you  have  been  !”  was  Lloyd’s 
somewhat  impatient  exclamation,  when  she  joined 
him  that  morning  in  the  garden,  ready  equipped  for 
the  proposed  walk. 

‘‘  I am  very  sorry ; but  the  time  did  not  seem 
long  to  me.” 

“ I dare  say  not.  Your  paragon,  Mrs.  Murray, 
is  a very  nice  woman,  no  doubt ; and  her  daughter 
something  like  you,  only  not  half  so  good;  but  lam 
too  lazy  to  entertain  people  now,  and  too  stupid  to 
be  entertained  by  them,  with  one  or  two  exceptions, 
so  that  I don’t  care  to  be  with  any  one  fresh.  I 
dare  say  they  thought  me  uncouth  enough  for  taking 
myself  off;  but  I can’t  help  it.” 

Georgie  wished  in  her  heart  he  could  be  persuaded 
to  make  Mrs.  Murray  one  of  his  exceptions.  She 
had  so  strong  a feeling  that  she  might  be  useful  to 
him,  but  she  could  not  tell  him  so.  She  fe^^lso 
she  must  not  expect  to  see  much  of  her  friends  at 
present,  as  even  this  little  absence  had  fretted  her 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


255 


cousin ; but  she  knew  that  her  great  duty  now  was 
to  take  care  of  him,  and  do  what  she  could  to  inter- 
est and  divert  his  mind.  It  required  some  denial 
not  to  be  able  to  return  Margaret’s  visit,  or  have 
the  long  outpouring  for  which  both  so  much  longed  ; 
but  she  had  the  inward  satisfaction  of  feeling  she 
was  right,  and  that  the  path  of  duty,  though  trying  * 
at  times,  is  ever  the  really  happy  one.  And  Mar- 
garet sighed  sadly  as  she  saw  Georgie  at  her  cou- 
sin’s side  pass  in  front  of  their  cottage  garden,  and 
not  turn  in  at  the  little  gate,  which  was  rarely 
passed  by  in  former  days.  They  met  sometimes 
in  the  village  ; but  Lloyd,  though  always  courteous, 
never  seemed  disposed  to  linger  or  to  accept  Mrs. 
Murray’s  suggestion  that  a call  at  the  cottage  might 
afford  him  some  little  change,  should  he  feel  so  dis- 
posed. 

Mr.  Harkness,  the  clergyman  who  had  taken  Mr. 
Grove’s  place  for  a time  at  the  church  of  Beech- 
wood,  took  an  early  opportunity  of  calling  at  the 
rectory.  He  w\as  an  old  friend  of  Georgie’s ; and 
it  was  great  pleasure  to  her  to  meet  him  again. 
Lloyd,  who  was  in  the  room  at  the  time  of  his  visit, 
after  a minute  or  two’s  chat,  of  a general  kind,  went 
out  in  a perfectly  unceremonious  manner,  leaving 
Georgina  to  excuse  him  as  she  had  done  before. 

“I  should  have  liked  a little  conversation  with 
you.%  cousin,”  Mr.  Harkness  said,  when  he  rose  to 
leave ; “ but  I suppose  he  is  scarcely  equal  to  it.” 

‘‘  I hai'dly  know  : he  is  very  reserved.” 


256 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


“ Yes,  but  I might  talk  if  he  did  not  choose  to 
talk.  He  looks  unhappy,  Georgina.  He  has  had  a 
wonderful — little  less  than  miraculous  preservation ; 
and  God  oftentimes,  in  his  great  love,  deals  thus  to 
lead  the  wanderer  back  to  h^m.  He  may  need 
words  of  counsel  and  advice.” 

“ I wish  you  could  find  the  opportunity.  Do 
come  soon  again,  dear  Mr.  Harkness.  He  hears 
the  Bible  read  constantly ; and  I believe  reads  it 
himself  as  well.” 

Ah,  well,  dear  child,  human  words  cannot  speak 
like  that.  I am  thankful  to  hear  it  : read  on  ; and 
may  God  bless  you  both.”  He  laid  his  hand  on  her 
head  kindly,  tenderly ; and  Georgie  smiled  through 
her  tears. 

It  was  a beautiful  spring  : April  w^as  indeed  very, 
very  lovely.  The  cousins  took  long  afternoon  ram- 
bles together  through  lanes  bright  with  primroses 
and  stellaria,  and  woods  where  the  anemone  and 
sweet  wood-sorrel  and  adoxa  grew  in  all  their  wild 
luxuriance ; and  Georgie  sketched,  as  she  had  said ; 
and  Lloyd  sat  silently  with  his  fishing-rod,  helping 
her  when  she  needed  help,  till  the  sun  drew  near 
the  horizon ; and  then  they  reluctantly  bent  their 
steps  homewards. 

Georgina  read  to  him  of  an  evening.  It  was 
strange  the  books  she  chose  for  the  young  officer, 
who,  until  within  the  last  few  months,  had  bee^ull 
of  the  world  and  schemes  of  pleasure  and  dissipa- 
tion : the  ‘‘  Pilgrim’s  Progress”- — begun  for  the  sec- 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


257 


ond  time — “Fox’s  Acts  and  Monuments  of  the 
Martyrs,”  and  the  “ Prayers  and  holy  Meditations 
of  St.  Augustine,”  with,  from  time  to  time,  favor- 
ite portions  from  the  beautiful  Thomas-a-Kempis, 
Lloyd  himself  had  given  her. 

They  always  had  a fire  of  an  evening,  for  “ ap- 
pearance’ sake,”  as  Georgie  said  laughingly  ; and 
Lloyd  seemed  perfectly  contented  to  lie  on  the  sofa 
near  it,  with  Georgie  on  her  low  seat  on  the  other 
side,  reading  in  that  soft  clear  voice  of  hers.  He 
never  made  any  objection  to  the  books  she  chose, 
nor  any  remark  on  what  he  heard,  except  just  to 
thank  her ; but  she  felt  sure  that  he  liked  it,  he  lis- 
tened so  attentively.  She  always  closed  with  the 
Bible.  And  Lloyd  grew  stronger  and  better  from 
day  to  day  ; but  a great  cloud  still  hung  upon  his 
brow — the  impenetrable  shadow  was  yet  thick 
around  his  soul.  Georgie  guessed  how  it  w'as,  and 
she  longed  and  prayed  for  light  to  dawn,  but  waited 
patiently. 

One  night — it  was  the  Thursday  before  Easter- 
day — in  her  reading  she  came  to  these  words, 
“ But  now  I dare  not  despair,  because  he,  having 
show’ll  himself  obedient  to  thee  unto  the  death,  even 
the  death  of  the  cross,  hath  taken  away  the  hand- 
writing of  our  sins,  and,  fastening  it  upon  the  cross, 
hath  crucified  both  sin  and  death.”  It  seemed  as 
though  meant  for  Lloyd,  and,  glancing  at  his  face, 
she  saw  that  look  of  great  suffering  upon  it  that  she 
had  noticed  once  before. 

22=^ 


258 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ Dear  Lloyd,  are  you  in  pain  she  said : is 

your  head  worse  to-night 

He  started  a Iktle,  and  then  gave,  O such  a sad 
gloomy  smile. 

“ You  find  out  everything,  little  Constance,”  he 
answered.  “ My  head  is  not  just  as  it  should  be 
to-night : I will  go  to  bed  soon.  What  was  that 
last  sentence  ? Eead  it  again,  will  you 
She  did  so,  and  then  closed  the  book. 

It  was  the  morning  of  Good  Friday,  and  the  bells 
were  chiming  for  morning  worship.  Georgina 
came  into  the  room  where  Lloyd  sat  on  the  couch, 
with  her  bonnet  on,  her  books  in  her  hand,  and  a 
peaceful  smile  on  her  calm  still  face.  What  a con- 
trast to  the  dejection  depicted  on  his ! 

“ I do  not  like  to  leave  you,  now,”  she  said, 
“ with  your  head  so  suffering  : let  me  stay.” 

“ No,  indeed,  I will  not  keep  you  away  again,  es- 
pecially this  morning.  I am  better  already,  since 
breakfast.” 

What  will  you  do  all  the  while'?” 

“ O read,  or  have  some  music,  or  a turn  in  the 
garden.  I shall  not  hurt : don’t  think  about  me.” 
But  she  could  not  help  it.  The  look  he  had  worn 
on  the  previous  evening  followed  her  even  to  the 
housye  of  God  : she  could  not  forget  it.  When  she 
was  gone  Lloyd  walked  to  the  window,  and  watched 
her  retreating  figure  as  long  as  it  was  visible.  ‘‘  O 
this  wearisome  struggle,  will  it  never,  never  end  ? 
Can  the  peace  she  enjoys  never  be  intended  for  me*? 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


259 


O Lord,  who  hast  taught  me  to  seek  tliee,  hide  thy- 
self no  longer,  but  let  me  find  rest  in  thee.” 

“ I had  hoped  to  see  your  cousin,  dear  Georgie,” 
said  Mrs.  Murray,  as  they  walked  a little  together 
on  their  way  home : “ he  is  not  worse  ; or  you 
would  not  be  here.” 

“ No,  not  materially  worse,  only  the  headache  ; 
and  he  would  not  let  me  stay  away.  Dear  Mrs 
Murray,  will  you  pray  for  him  more  than  ever 

She  pressed  the  little  hand,  and  they  parted. 
Georgie  lingered  a little  in  the  garden,  and  gathered 
a few  flow^ers  to  make  the  room  look  brighter,  as 
she  thought  of  Lloyd’s  wearied,  troubled  face. 

What  can  I do  or  say  to  comfort  him  ?”  she  asked 
herself  as  she  walked  up  the  passage.  She  opened 
the  door  of  the  library  quietly.  Lloyd  was  there 
on  the  sofa  where  she  had  left  him ; but  O what 
wonderful  change  had  passed  over  him  ! His  fine 
face,  no  longer  troubled  and  restless,  was  radiant 
with  a joy  and  happiness  she  had  never  seen  there 
before ; not  the  strange,  wild  enthusiasm  that  it  had 
sometimes  worn  when  he  stood  unconscious  of  all 
else  beside  before  his  easel,  painting ; nor  the  care- 
less gaiety  and  mirth  which  he  w^as  wont  to  assume 
when  in  the  midst  of  company  thoughtless  and  un- 
concerned as  himself ; but  a peaceful  settled  joy, 
the  source  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken.  She 
stood  for  a moment  at  the  door,  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  a great  joy  at  her  heart,  which  yet  she 


260 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


hardly  dared  to  believe.  He  looked  up  at  her,  and 
smiled.  The  flowers  dropped  from  her  hand. 

“O  Lloyd!” 

It  was  all  she  could  say ; but  the  tone  conveyed 
the  question  that  was  intended.  He  answered  as 
though  she  had  spoken — 

‘‘  Yes and  then,  pointing  to  the  book  before 
him,  he  said,  ‘‘  ‘ He  hath  given  me  rest  by  his  sor- 
row, and  life  by  his  death I have  been  to  the 
cross,  this  morning,  Georgie,  and  have  left  my 
burden  there.” 

She  came  up  to  him,  and  leaning  her  face  for  a 
moment  upon  his  shoulder,  wept  silently.  They 
were  tears  of  unfeigned  joy  and  gratitude;  and 
Lloyd,  the  once  proud,  scorning  Lloyd,  wept  with 
her.  And  then  he  told  her  the  long  history  of  his 
past  convictions,  fears,  and  conflicts ; how  the  bur- 
den of  his  sins  had  of  late  become  so  intolerable  to 
him  that  life  itself  was  a weariness,  and  how  to  no 
living  being,  not  even  to  her,  could  he  speak  of  it ; 
and  how  he  had  endeavored  to  assume  carelessness 
and  levity,  when  all  the  while  his  heart  was  aching 
with  the  load  of  sin  unpardoned,  and  the  thought 
of  the  just  anger  of  a long-neglected  God.  And, 
when  you  read  his  precious  life-giving  words,  some- 
thing would  whisper  that  they  were  not  for  me — 
that  I had  too  long  trifled  with  and  neglected  his 
oflfers  of  mercy ; and  so  there  could  be  no  pardon 
for  me.  I thought  upon  my  sins,  my  wasted  life, 
my  broken  sabbaths,  the  thousand  ways  in  which 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


261 


I had  broken  the  holy  law,  and  everything  seemed 
to  say,  ‘ No  hope,  no  hope.’  Sometimes,  when  you 
read  of  Christ’s  sufferings,  and  death,  a gleam  of 
hope  would  appear  for  a moment,  but  then  vanish 
away  again.  I could  not  think  that  it  was  intended 
for  me.  O how  I have  longed  and  agonized  for 
peace !”  ' 

“ You  have  found  it  now,”  she  said  softly. 

‘‘  Yes,  all  in  him.  I had  been  reading  the  fif- 
teenth of  St.  Luke,  this  morning;  how  the  father 
received  the  prodigal  son,  and  not  only  forgave,  but 
met  and  welcomed  him ; and  I saw  that  my  case 
was  his.  I cast  myself  upon  Christ,  just  as  I was ; 
and  now  I feel  that  I am  forgiven — that  sinful,  mis- 
erable as  I am,  there  is  room  in  the  Father’s  heart 
and  home  for  me ; and  that,  through  the  perfect 
atonement  Christ  made  upon  the  cross  for  all,  even 
the  chief  of  sinners,  I can  say  now  with  St.  Augus- 
tine, as  you  were  reading  last  night,  ‘ therefore,  I 
dare  not  despair.’  ” 

Much  more  he  told  her  of  the  conflict  and  suffer- 
ing he  had  experienced,  and  the  sweet  hope  and 
assurance  he  now  possessed ; and,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished, he  said — 

“And  it  is  you,  Georgie,  that,  next  to  God,  I 
must  thank  for  this  blessed  change.  It  was  the 
consistency  and  blamelessness  of  your  life  that  first 
led  me  to  think  about  religion  at  all.  I could  not 
help  admiring  it  in  you,  though  my  own  heart  long 
hated  and  despised  it.  Then  your  faithfulness  in 


262 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


telling  me  of  the  great  sin  I was  daily  in  the  habit 
of  committing,  though  I knew  it  to  be  wrong”  (here 
Georgina  wept  again),  “and  your  reading  to  me 
the  word  of  God,  and  not  giving  me  up,  though  1 
must  have  appeared  so  stupidly  indifferent,  that  I 
only  wonder  how  you  persevered.  You  have 
prayed  for  me,  too,  I know.  My  thanks  are  very 
poor ; but  you  will  have  your  reward,  my  dear 
little  cousin.” 

Her  heart  seemed  too  full  to  reply,  and  he  went 
on — 

“ I am  very  sorry  for  the  light,  careless  way  in 
which  I spoke  of  being  an  earnest  Christian,  the 
first  night  we  came  here,  Georgie.  I do  not  wonder 
that  you  thought  me  totally  indifferent,  though  that 
was  not  the  case ; but  I have  got  into  the  way, 
lately,  of  feigning  carelessness  when  I felt  the  most. 
I could  not  endure  the  thought  of  any  one’s  guessing 
my  real  feelings ; and  yet  I wanted  you  to  talk  to 
me.  I was  vexed  with  the  way  in  which  you  an- 
swered my  seemingly  thoughtless  question : I 
thought  you  would  have  told  me  ‘ no,’  plainly,  and 
then  I might  have  told  you  all.” 

“ I am  very  sorry,  dear  Lloyd.” 

“ Ah,  but  it  was  best  as  it  was  : it  threw  me  back 
more  entirely  upon  the  word  of  God.  I searched 
my  heart  more  faithfully  than  ever,  and  prayed 
more  ardently  than  before  that  the  great  question 
might  be  decided — that  peace  and  happiness  might 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


263 


come.  O it  has  seemed  a long  time  waiting ; but 
I know  now  that  my  prayer  has  been  heard."’ 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  at  length  by 
the  entrance  of  a servant. 

“ I shall  go  with  you  this  afternoon,”  Lloyd  said, 
as  Georgie  was  putting  on  her  things  again. 

Do  you  think  you  should  she  said,  half-hesi- 
tatingly,  and  yet  with  a very  happy  smile  : “ your 
head  was  so  bad  this  morning.” 

“ Ah,  it  is  better  now.  And  do  you  think  Mr. 
Harkness  would  come  in  this  evening,  if  you  were 
to  ask  hun,  Georgie?  I should  like  to  talk  with 
him  a little.” 

Yes,  I am  quite  sure  he  would ; he  inquired  for 
you  this  morning.” 

O with  what  changed  feelings  did  Georgina  stand 
side  by  side  with  her  cousin  at  that  afternoon’s  wor- 
ship. Deep  gratitude,  mingled  with  the  yet-hardly 
realized  joy  that  the  wanderer  had  returned  to  his 
Father  and  his  home,  that  the  middle  wall,  broken 
down  before,  had  been  crossed  over,  and  her  cousin, 
no  longer  a stranger  and  an  alien,  had  received  the 
welcome  and  the  blessing  of  a son  and  heir. 

Mr.  Harkness  preached  from  the  words : “ In 
whom  we  have  redemption,  through  his  blood, 
the  forgiveness  of  sins.’’  Lloyd  listened  with 
eager  rapt  attention  to  every  word ; all  seemed  to 
be  spoken  for  him.  At  the  close  he  appeared  much 
moved. 

“ What  a beautiful  sermon !”  he  said  to  Geor- 


264 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


gina.  ‘‘  How  is  it  possible  I can  have  heard  so 
many,  quite  as  beautiful,  doubtless,  and  remained 
unawakened 

“In  a person  without  ear,  the  most  exquisite 
music  cannot  excite  pleasure,”  she  answered : “ he 
may  stand  by  perfectly  unmoved,  while  a real 
lover  of  it  has  his  soul  so  full  that  he  can  think  of 
nothing  else;  and  the  impression  made  remains 
thrilling  within  him  for  long  after.  That  is  strange, 
but  stranger  still  that  the  music  of  the  Shepherd’s 
voice,  inviting  his  wandering  sheep  to  return,  should 
fall  on  their  ears  disregarded  and  slighted  for  days, 
and  months,  and  years. 

“But  then,  when  they  do  hear  it,  it  is  real 
music,”  said  Lloyd.  “ O Georgie,  that  text  this 
afternoon“‘  In  whom  we  have  the  forgiveness  of 
sins’ — nay  heart  seemed  to  answer  to  it  so  thank- 
fully.” 

In  this  manner  they  conversed  till  they  reached 
the  house ; and  soon  after,  in  compliance  with 
Georgina’s  request,  Mr.  Harkness  came  to  the 
rectory. 

“Shall  I go?”  whispered  Georgina  to  her  cousin, 
after  he  had  entered. 

“ O,  no,”  said  Lloyd,  “ not  unless  you  wish  it.  I 
am  only  going  to  speak  of  my  new-found  treasure, 
and  ask  advice  and  instruction  and  direction.” 

And  as  she  listened  to  her  once  haughty  cousin, 
meekly,  and  with  the  humility  of  a little  child 
listening  to  the  words  of  admonition  which  fell  from 


PEACE  SOUGHT  AND  FOUND. 


265 


the  lips  of  Christ’s  minister,  and  answering  with 
candor  and  simplicity  the  questions  of  examination 
which  he  felt  it  meet  to  put  to  him,  Georgina’s 
head  sank  yet  lower,  and  tears  of  thankful  joy  again 
dropped  from  her  eyelids. 

When  Mr.  Harkness  took  leave  of  her  that  night, 
he  said,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  head,  “ They  that 
sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy  and  Lloyd  looked 
up  and  smiled,  for  he,  too,  well  understood  his 
meaning. 


23 


XV. 


SSTURH  OF  TWO  Wi^XDERSHS. 


“ Not  thus  let  us  meet — 

Mid  falling  leaves 
And  sere  frost-stricken  flowers  ; 

But  when  the  leaf  is  budding  in  its  freshness, 

And  the  rich  blossom  putting  forth  its  gladness. 

Not  thus  let  us  meet: 

It  is  too  sad  ; 

But,  when  the  buried  verdure 
Is  coming  up  to  meet  the  joyous  sun, 

When  the  new  spring  looks  round  upon  the  hill, 

Full  of  youth’s  buoyant  promise  and  bright  song, 

Then  let  us  meet.”  * 

‘ERY  calmly  and  peacefully  passed  the  Eastei 
day,  and  the  succeeding  Easter  week.  To 
Lloyd  it  was  a season  of  unalloyed  happiness. 
The  new  life,  so  recently  begun  in  hrs  soul,  and  un- 
troubled as  yet  by  the  conflicts  and  temptations 
which  his  return  to  the  outward  world  must  neces- 
sarily involve,  welled  up  so  deeply  and  thankfully, 
that  each  day  seemed  more  happy  and  joyous  than 
its  forerunner.  And  life,  common  every-day  life, 
was  no  longer  the  dull  and  insipid  thing  of  hereto- 
fore. One  great  object  ^ood  out  plainly  and  stead- 


« 


^ From  * Hymns  of  Faith  and  Hope.”  Bj  Bonar. 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


267 


fastly  before  him.  There  was  a Master  to  be 
served  ; a Father,  who  had  loved  and  sought  him 
when  wandering  far  from  his  presence,  to  be  obeyed 
and  glorified ; a Saviour,  who  had  rescued  and  re- 
deemed him,  to  be  loved  and  gladly  honored. 
Saved  and  forgiven  himself,  the  absorbing  thought 
now  was,  how  to  bring  others  to  the  same  state  of 
happy  peace  and  rest. 

He  chose  the  earliest  occasion  to  write  to  each 
member  of  the  family  at  Leighton,  and  towards 
the  close  of  the  week  heard  in  reply  from  his 
mother,  father,  and  sisters.  Lady  Archdale  wrote 
thankfully  and  lovingly. 

Georgie,  I did  not  know  I had  such  a mother,” 
he  said,  as  he  handed  her  the  letter  for  her  perusal. 

He  opened  his  father’s  then ; and  a glow  of 
color  mounted  even  to  his  pale  forehead  as  he 
read : 

“ Over -wrought  imagination,  excited  brain,  na- 
tural enthusiasm  of  temperament,  which  would 
gradually  calm  down  as  he  was  able  to  mingle 
again  in  his  old  pursuits — ” 

“ Nay,”  he  murmured  to  himself ; and  a smile 
succeeded  the  impatient  flush  which  lingered  but 
for  a moment.  “ The  excitement,  if  such  it  be,  I 
trust  will  never  pass  away,  the  fire  never  cease  to 
burn  until  death  quenches  it.” 

The  letters  of  his  sisters  caused  him  a touch  of 
pain,  though  he  could  not  wonder  at  their  tone  and 
language.  Frances  begged  him  to  lay  aside  the 


268 


THE  brother’s  watchword. 


sober,  metbodistical  notions  which  had  so  suddenly 
possessed  his  brain.  ‘‘  She  could  not  spare  him  just 
yet,”  she  said  : “ he  must  grow  a little  older  before 
he  turned  pious — there  was  time  enough  yet.”  And 
she  begged  him  to  come  away  from  Beechwood, 
and  its  gloomy  associations,  and  return  once  more 
to  his  old  friends  and  pleasures.  Augusta  echoed 
her  sister’s  words,  though  both  expressed  their  joy 
at  the  amendment  he  spoke  of  in  his  health,  and 
their  thanks  to  Georgina  for  having  so  far  faithfully 
|)erformed  her  trust. 

■ And  very  thankful  was  Georgina  to  see  the  won- 
derful change  for  the  better  which  had  come  upon 
Lloyd.  It  scarcely  surprised  her,  though  it  was  a 
subject  for  constant  gratitude  and  joy.  He  no 
longer  refused  to  visit  Mrs.  Murray  ; nor  did  he 
selfishly  detain  his  cousin  from  spending  as  much 
of  her  time  as  she  desired  with  her  kind  friends  at 
the  cottage.  And  he  made  Georgie  take  him  to 
the  houses  of  some  of  the  poor  parishioners ; and, 
with  all  her  thankfulness,  she  could  scarcely  repress 
a smile  as  her  once-haughty  cousin  strove  to  bring 
his  demeanor  and  conversation  to  the  level  of  their 
comprehension  and  sympathy. 

On  returning  from  one  of  these  visits,  just  as 
they  reached  the  garden-gate,  Lloyd  said ; 

“ Georgina,  when  I first  went  to  Oxford  it  was 
with  the  idea  that  I might  one  day  take  orders. 
But  I was  not  quite  enough  of  a hypocrite  5 and  my 
plans  soon  changed.” 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


269 


Here  he  paused  ; and,  as  his  cousin  made  no 
reply,  they  walked  up  to  the  house  in  silence* 
But,  as  they  parted  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he 
continued : 

“ Can  it  ever  he  too  late  to  revoke  a false  step, 
or,  at  any  rate,  to  atone  for  past  error  and  neg- 
lect T 

Never she  answered,  in  her  clear  decided 
tone;  for  she  guessed  somewhat  of  her  cousin’s 
meaning. 

Thus  passed  the  Easter  week.  On  the  Monday 
following,  just  as  evening  was  creeping  on,  the 
cousins  sat  together  in  the  library  of  the  rectory. 
It  had  been  a gustful,  stormy  day,  for  the  season 
of  the  year ; and,  with  the  exception  of  a morning 
call  from  Lloyd  upon  Mr.  Harkness,  neither  he 
nor  Georgina  had  ventured  out. 

The  cheerlessness  of  outward  objects  had  made 
the  latter  more  alive  to  the  still  heavy  grief,  which, 
poor  child,  was  hidden  away  as  secretly  as  possible 
in  her  nevertheless  restless  heart.  Twilight  deep- 
ened ; and  she  ceased  her  work,  but  sat,  silently 
and  wearily,  gazing  through  the  window  on  the  rain 
falling  thick  and  fast,  and  the  masses  of  dark  clouds, 
which  seemed  to  grow  darker  and  yet  darker  as  the 
light  diminished.  Lloyd  was  at  the  table,  writing 
busily.  It  was  two  hours,  now,  since  he  had 
spoken. 

“ Lloyd,  can  you  see  ?”  she  said,  at  last,  with  a 
little  sigh. 


23^ 


270 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


This  roused  him. 

“ No ; I think  I have  been  taking  it  for  granted 
the  last  five  minutes.  What  a chilly  evening ! 
And,  Constance,  you  look  benumbed,  sitting  so  long 
by  that  window : we  shall  enjoy  our  fire  now. 
Shall  we  shut  up  ? Stay  : I will  ring  the  bell.” 

“ No  : I like  to  do  all  that  myself,”  said  Geor- 
gina, her  face  becoming  a little  brighter  at  the 
sound  of  a cheering  voice.  “ And  I am  not  be- 
numbed, Lloyd : only  I have  been  watching  those 
grey  clouds  for  such  a time,  and  wondering  how 
they  can  possibly  pour  down  such  torrents,  and  yet 
continue  as  heavy  and  grey  as  ever.” 

“I  think  a little  of  the  grey  was  cieeping  over 
you,  nevertheless,”  said  her  cousin;  “and,  to  cheer 
you,  when  you  have  made  all  proper  arrangements, 
we  will  have  a little  reading  before  dinner,  from 
our  favorite  old  saint.” 

The  evening  plan  was  changed  now ; Lloyd  be- 
coming the  reader,  Georgina  the  listener.  Her  ar- 
rangements were  soon  made.  The  fire  blazed 
cheerfully,  the  lamp  was  lighted,  and  herself  seated 
in  her  favorite  position  by  the  fire-side.  Lloyd 
was  in  Leonard’s  seat. 

“ Where  shall  I read  ?”  he  asked. 

“ That  beautiful  piece  on  the  heavenly  country,” 
she  answered  : “ Leonard  liked  it  so.” 

The  heaviness  seemed  to  pass  away  as  Lloyd 
read : 

“ 0 everlasting  kingdom,  O kingdom,  world 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


271 


without  end,  wherein  light  is  which  alway  lasteth, 
and  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  understand- 
ing ; in  which  the  souls  of  the  saints  do  rest,  and 
wherein  everlasting  joy  shall  be  upon  their  heads, 
where  they  shall  obtain  joy  and  gladness,  and  sor- 
row and  mourning  shall  flee  away.  O what  a glor- 
ious kingdom  is  it  where  all  the  saints  do  reign  with 
thee,  O God,  clothed  with  light  as  with  a garment, 
having  the  crown  of  precious  stones  upon  their 
heads!  There^  comfort  endless,  mirth  without 
mourning,  health  without  sickness,  nay,  without 
weariness,  light  without  darkness,  life  without  death, 
and  all  goodness  without  any  evil,  is.  There^  youth 
never  cometh  to  age,  life  dieth  not,  beauty  paleth 
not,  love  cools  not,  health  decayeth  not,  joy  wither 
eth  not.  There^  neither  pain  is  felt,  neither  groan- 
ing heard,  neither  sadness  seen  ; there  alway  they 
enjoy  pleasure;  and  evil  there  is  never  heard. 
Wherefore,  happy  are  they,  whom  God  hath  fetched 
out  of  this  wretched  life  unto  so  great  joys.  Un- 
happy  are  we,  who  sail  through  the  waves  of  this 
sea,  and  by  these  dangerous  gulfs.  Unhappy,.!  say, 
are  we,  whose  life  is  in  banishment,  and  whose  way 
is  perilous.  We  continue  as  yet  in  the  streams  of 
water,  sighing  after  thee,  the  haven  of  the  sea.  O 
our  country,  O our  quiet  country,  we  ken  thee  afar 
off:  we  salute  thee  out  of  this  sea,  we  sigh  after 
thee  out  of  this  vale,  and  with  tears  we  tug  hard  to 
come  unto  thee,  O Christ,  God  of  God,  our  strength 
and  refuge,  whose  brightness  doth  enlighten  our 


272 


THE  BROTPIEr’s  WATCHWORD. 


eyes  afar  off,  as  the  beam  of  the  sea-star  doth  in 
the  dark  clouds  of  the  raging  sea,  that  we  may  be 
directed  to  thee,  the  haven  of  rest.  O Lord,  with 
thy  right  hand  govern  thou  our  ship  by  the  helm^ 
of  thy  cross,  that  we  perish  not  in  the  waves,  and 
that  the  tempest  of  water  drown  us  not,  nor  the 
deep  swallow  us  up  ; but  with  the  hook  of  thy  cross 
draw  us  back  unto  thee,  our  only  comfort,  whom 
we  behold  afar  off  as  the  morning  star,  almost  with 
weeping  eyes,  looking  for  us  upon  the  shore  of  the 
celestial  country.  We  abide  in  the  troublesome 
sea ; and  thou,  standing  upon  the  shore,  beholdest 
all  our  dangers.  O,  save  us,  we  pray  thee,  for  thy 
name’s  sake ! Give  us  grace,  O Lord,  among  these 
dangers  to  hold  and  keep  such  a course,  that,  each 
peril  escaped,  we  may  come  safe  unto  the  haven, 
both  with  ship  and  merchandize.”f 

Did  Georgina’s  ears  deceive  her?  Were  those 
the  sounds  of  carriage-w heels  in  the  distance,  or 
merely  the  pattering  of  rain  and  rush  of  the  wind 
without?  The  latter,  perhaps ; for  Lloyd  read  on 
undisturbed. 

‘•No:  the  sound  came  nearer — that  surely  was 
the  swing  of  the  gate ! The  color  came  all  over 

* The  expression  in  St.  Augustine  is  “ clavo  crucis  tuae,” 
which  should  bo  rendered — by  the  helm  or  rudder  of  the 
cross. 

f St.  Augustine’s  “ Heavenly  Meditations,”  chap.  35. 
This  book  is  not  really  by  Augustine : it  is  a kind  of  collec- 
tion from  his  writings,  and  those  of  other  authors. 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


2:3 


her  face.  She  had  been  deceived  once  before,  just 
at  this  hour,  by  the  carrier’s  cart : it  might  be  the 
same  now.  Still  her  heart  beat  violently  ; and  she 
rose,  her  work  dropping  from  her  hands. 

« O,  Lloyd  !” 

“ What,  Georgie  ?” 

“ I think — I don’t  know  ; but  there  seems  noise 
without,  some  one  coming.” 

“ I heard  nothing,  Connie  : are  you  sure  ^” 

“ O,  yes.” 

For  now  there  was  a loud  knock  and  ring.  Ah ! 
well  she  knew  that  knock. 

“ It  is ! it  is  !”  she  cried.  “ O,  Lloyd,  help  me 
to  be  thankful ; for  it  seems  too  much.” 

She  almost  crushed  his  hand  in  hers ; for  he  too, 
on  marking  her  strange  agitation,  had  risen,  and 
come  towards  her.  She  did  not  rush  into  the  hall : 
she  seemed  powerless  to  stir  from  the  spot  on  which 
she  was  standing ; for  the  overwhelming  sense  of 
joy  was  almost  pain.  The  door  opened ; and  at  the 
sight  of  that  dear  loved  face  came  also  power  to 
act.  She  sprang  forwards,  and,  flinging  herself  into 
Leonard’s  arms,  burst  into  a tumult  of  tears. 

“ Hush  ! hush  ! my  darling,”  Leonard  said ; “ it 
is  all  over  now ; God  has  sent  me  back  to  you  once 
more.  Not  tears  now,  but  thankfulness.” 

And  yet  his  own  heart  felt  a strange  tumult  and 
emotion,  as  he  pressed  his  regained  treasure  closer 
and  yet  closer  in  his  arms.  A great  deal  of  the 
sorrow,  anxiety,  and  bitterness  of  the  long  separa- 


274 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


tion  was  then  more  than  compensated  for ; and  a 
new  joy  was  yet  in  store. 

For  some  moments  Georgina  remained  locked  in 
that  fond  embrace,  without  thought  of  any  other 
being  upon  earth,  not  even  of  her  cousin.  He 
stood  there,  close  by,  looking  on  the  two,  wonder- 
ing at  the  strange  depth  of  love  and  passionate 
fondness  hidden  under  that  usually  calm  and  tran- 
quil face. 

He  did  not  feel  hurt  at  the  apparent  forgetfulness 
of  himself : he  might  have  done  so,  weeks  back ; 
but  some  of  the  old  selfishness  had  vanished  now. 
He  thought  of  the  long  dull  waiting  time  that  his 
young  cousin  had  known,  of  the  patient  trust  and 
hope  she  had  all  the  while  exhibited,  and  of  the  joy 
that  she  must  now  experience.  The  same  joy, 
though  with  perhaps  an  undefined  shade  of  pain 
mingling  with  it,  thrilled  his  own  heart.  He  felt 
for  the  moment  with  her,  and  himself  was  forgotten. 

She  thought  of  him  first. 

“ Leonard,  dearest  brother,  we  forget : here  is 
Lloyd.  Lloyd,  forgive  me  !”  And  her  eyes,  still 
tearful,  but  beaming  with  grateful  joy,  looked  up  to 
his  face  pleadingly. 

The  cousins  greeted  each  other  warmly. 

“ We  meet  as  brothers  now,”  Leonard  said.  And 
Lloyd  grasped  his  hand  again ; while  the  smile  that 
lighted  his  fine  countenance  spoke  more  than  words 
in  reply. 

There  was  a moment’s  pause.  Leonard  looked 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


275 


down  upon  his  sister,  whose  head  still  leaned  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  then  at  Lloyd.  The  latter  spoke 
then  ; for,  strangely  enough,  the  inquiry  he  had 
thought  would  be  the  first  had  been  forgotten  until 
then. 

“ Is  all  right  ?”  he  asked  eagerly. 

Leonard  smiled  one  of  his  beautiful  smiles,  and 
laid  his  hand  caressingly  on  his  sister’s  head. 

“ Georgina,  my  darling,  there  is  a great  joy  for 
you.” 

“ I have  it,”  she  replied,  raising  her  eyes  and 
head  from  the  drooping  posture  she  had  assumed ; 
as  though  at  rest,  standing  there  with  him  beside 
her : “ more  than  I deserve.” 

“There  is  some  yet  for  another,”  her  brother 
said ; and  something  in  his  tone  made  her  unloose 
her  hold  of  his  arm,  and  look  eagerly  and  inquir- 
ingly from  him  to  Lloyd.  Both  smiled. 

“ I must  leave  you  for  one  moment,”  Leonard 
said  ; and  he-  went  out  into  the  hall.  One  moment 
of  anxious  excitement  to  Georgina,  and  to  Lloyd  as 
well ; and  then  the  brother  reappeared,  accompanied 
by — was  it  another  Leonard?  A tall  manly  figure, 
with  the  same  wide  brow,  the  same  dark  speaking 
eyes,  though  scarcely  so  grave  and  serious  as  were 
Leonard  Archdale’s. 

There  was  a silence  almost  painful  in  its  intensity  ; 
and  the  color  came  and  went  on  Georgina’s  face  as 
she  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  as  though  entreat- 
ing an  explanation  of  this  strange,  strange  mystery. 


276 


THE  brother’s  'WATCHWORD. 


At  length  Leonard  said,  in  a voice  of  deep  emo- 
tion, and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Georgina  saw 
tears  in  those  steadfast  eyes,  “ ‘ This  thy  brother  was 
dead  and  is  alive  again  : he  was  lost,  and  is  found/  ” 

A sudden  impulse  made  the  sister  cling  again  to 
her  elder  brother’s  arm ; but  he  unloosed  the  hold^ 
feeling  that  she  was  no  longer  exclusively  his,  and 
led  her  towards  the  younger,  who  was  gazing  upon 
her  with  that  look  of  earnest  seeking  love  which 
was  surely  his,  though  he  had  scarce  the  right  to 
claim  it. 

“ Reginald,”  Leonard  whispered,  “ your  brother. 
You  will  love  him,  Georgie,  even  as  you  love  me.” 
And  that  was  no  light  standard. 

She  did  not  say,  “ I will,”  in  words  ; but,  as  Reg- 
inal  stooped  to  meet  those  outstretched  arms,  that 
fond  loving  face,  and  as  the  lips  of  brother  and  sis- 
ter met  in  that  first  long  sacred  embrace,  the  vow 
was  made  deep  in  each  heart  that,  until  death  should 
separate,  the  bond  of  so  many  years’  separation, 
but  united  by  the  noble,  selfdenying,  heroic  love 
of  the  elder  brother,  should  never,  never  be  sun* 
dered.  Without  words  the  heart  of  each  said  that 
love  restored  at  such  a price,  should  never  be  dis- 
solved. 

There  was  much,  very  much  to  be  told  and  retold 
that  night,  never  to  be  forgotten  in  the  lives  of  that 
little  family  group. 

First,  of  the  wanderings  of  the  younger  one, 
wnose  name  even — so  long  w'as  it  since  he  had  left 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


277 


home  and  country,  and  so  surely  were  tlie  tidings 
of  his  death  long  years  ago  accredited — was  scarce 
familiar  to  Georgina.  And  then  of  the  deep  love 
and  devotion  of  tlie  elder  brother ; who,  gaining  a 
clue,  so  distant  and  uncertain  as  to  have  been  passed 
over  by  the  many,  of  his  brother’s  existence  far  in 
the  interior  of  India,  had  left  all  that  was  dear  to 
him,  his  sacred  toils,  his  home,  his  dearest  earthly 
love,  and  hastened  to  the  rescue  and  recovery  of 
his  wandering  and  erring  brother.  Distant  was  the 
clue,  and  dangerous  the  search ; but  at  last,  in  the 
barracks  of  a small  town  far  in  the  north  of  the 
great  Indian  empire,  stretched  on  his  soldier’s  bed, 
burning  and  delirious  with  an  infectious  fever,  did 
Leonard  find  bis  brother. 

Racked  with  pain,  at  times  unconscious,  yet  in 
his  more  lucid  moments  did  the  young  man  speak 
of  his  native  land,  and  the  home  of  his  boyhood, 
the  loving  parents,  and  the  friends  of  his  childish 
years,  whose  hearts  he  had  lacerated  well  nigh  to 
breaking  by  his  wayw^ardness,  his  rebellion,  and  his 
ultimate  desertion. 

And  there,  as  the  shadow  of  death  closed  heavily 
over  him,  as  eternity  with  its  untold  solemnity 
neared  his  shuddering  view,  the  thought  of  meeting 
his  father’s  God,  the  God  he  had  been  taught  to 
kneel  to  and  reverence  in  former  years,  but  whom 
he  had  since  despised  and  slighted,  overwhelmed 
his  trembling  soul.  O for  a ray  of  hope  ! O for 
24 


278 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


one  gleam  of  mercy  to  lighten  the  gloomy  boding 
darkness ! 

It  came  at  last.  Just  in  that  moment  of  agoniz- 
ing despair,  when  his  lips  cried  out  in  terror,  “ What 
must  I do  to  be  saved  ? How,  how  shall  I escape 
a voice,  which  sounded  soothingly  and  like  the  mu- 
sic of  a long-forgotten  song,  spoke  gently  to  his  ear 
the  words,  “ Come  unto  me ; and  I will  give  you 
rest.  . . Return  unto  me,  ye  backsliding  children,  for 
I am  the  Lord  your  God. . . And,  when  he  was  yet  a 
great  way  off,  the  Father  saw  him,  and  had  compas- 
sion.” 

“ Again,  again,”  said  Reginald : speak  those 

words  again,  and  tell  me  there  is  hope.” 

Tenderly  and  faithfully  did  Leonard  watch  by 
that  bed  of  suffering ; and  nobly  was  he  rewarded. 
The  life  of  his  younger  brother  was  given  in  answer 
to  his  strong  and  earnest  prayers ; and  far  more 
than  this,  the  spiritual  life,  awoke  within  his  soul. 
It  had  been  a cold  and  stony  heart ; but  the  breath 
of  the  Spirit  melted  and  w^armed  it.  Much  was 
forgiven  him  : and  much  in  return,  he  loved. 

As  the  touching  tale  reached  its  climax,  and  Leo- 
nard told  of  his  brother  hovering  on  the  verge  of 
death,  and  then  slowly  and  languidly  coming  back 
to  life,  Georgina’s  emotion  could  scarcely  be  re- 
strained. 

And  then — she  murmured,  as  Leonard  paused 
for  a moment. 

“And  then,”  continued  Reginald,  taking  up  the 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


279 


recital,  and  with  a glance  of  inexpressible  love  to- 
wards his  elder  brother — ‘‘‘  then  Leonard  was  laid 
down.” 

What  1 in  fever  asked  Georgina,  slowly, 
tremblingly,  as  though  the  fearful  reality  were  even 
then  before  her.  “ And  I did  not  know  of  it ! O 
Leonard  I” 

‘‘  Yes,  in  fever,”  her  brother  answered  ; who  can 
wonder,  after  braving  all  as  he  did  for  me,  and  his 
strength  reduced  by  the  burning  heat,  as  it  was  when 
he  came  to  V— — . But  why  speak  of  it,  if  it 
troubles  you  he  continued,  as  the  tears  gathered 
in  his  sister’s  eyes,  which  yet  looked  up  with  fear- 
ing scrutiny  to  Leonard’s  face,  to  see  what  traces 
the  fearful  disease  might  have  left*  She  had  fancied 
him  a shade  paler,  and  more  worn  than  of  old. 

“ No ; go  on.  I should  like  to  hear  all,”  she  said* 
‘‘  But  why  did  I not  know  ?” 

“It  was  better,  much  better  as  it  was,  my  dar- 
ling,” said  her  brother.  “ That  was,  indeed,  the 
very  reason  I did  not  write.  I must  have  men- 
tioned my  illness  • and  I wanted  to  be  better — 
well,  first.’^ 

“ And  you  were  long  in  recovering  ? You  are 
ill  now  1 Tell  me  all,  Leonard,  I intreat  of 
you.” 

“ I have,  dear  child.  I am  well,  quite  well.  The 
voyage,  under  God’s  blessing,  has  done  every- 
thing in  restoring  me ; and  I feel  as  vigorous  as 
ever.” 


280 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ But  are  you  not  paler,  thinner 
“ Nay,  Georgie,  much  stouter,  as  you  would  say 
had  you  seen  me  three  or  four  months  back.  You 
need  not  be  anxious  on  my  account,  dear,  I assure 
you.  Now,  Lloyd he  continued,  glancing  towards 
his  cousin  : “ he  looks  as  though  a little  more  nurs- 
ing would  not  be  thrown  away  upon  him.” 

‘‘Ah!  but  Lloyd  is  wonderfully  better.  He 
was  saying,  only  to-day,  he  felt  quite  well.  But 
he  has  been  writing  this  afternoon  so  much — more 
a great  deal  than  he  ought.” 

Lloyd  echoed  Georgina’s  words  as  to  the  marked 
improvement  in  his  health,  and  felt,  indeed,  as  he 
surveyed  the  little  family  circle,  that  it  was  such 
as  not  to  warrant  a much  longer  tarry  amidst  it. 
He  was  able  and  anxious  for  work  now ; and  the 
repose  and  quietude  of  the  life  he  had  lately  been 
leading  were  no  longer  necessary.  Once  again  life, 
earnest  working  life  was  before  him  ; and  with  new 
feelings,  new  aims,  and  new  purposes,  did  he  look 
on  into  it. 

He  stayed  a few  days  at  the  rectory  after  the 
brothers’  return,  during  which  time  he  was  much 
with  Leonard.  Many  long  walks  and  rides  did  the 
cousins  have  together,  with  grave  and  earnest  con- 
versation, in  which  at  first  Leonard  was  the  teacher 
and  counsellor,  and  Lloyd  the  earnest  listener.  But, 
as  his  great  natural  reserve  gradually  melted  away, 
and  the  beauty  of  his  mind,  with  his  lofty  aspira- 
tions and  longing  strivings  for  the  good  and  true 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS.  281 

opened  out  to  him,  Leonard  could  not  hut  gratefully 
admire  and  thank  God  that  so  much  that  was  ele- 
vated, and  pure,  and  noble,  was  henceforth  to  be 
consecrated  to  his  service.  And  Lloyd  did  not  fail 
to  express  to  Leonard  his  sense  of  the  deep  debt 
of  gratitude  which,  under  God,  he  owed  to  the  ex- 
ample and  influence  of  his  young  cousin.  Lie  told 
all  that  had  occurred,  concealing  nothing — his  own 
kindly “intentioned,  though  mistaken  endeavors,  to 
lead  her  into  gay  scenes  and  company,  with  the 
idea  that  it  might  cheer  and  amuse  her;  her  stead- 
fast resistance ; her  calm,  consistent  life,  and  holy 
example ; the  patient  endurance  of  unkindness  and 
wrong,  and  the  ultimate  success  of  her  perseverance 
and  prayers. 

There  seemed  to  me,  even  from  the  first  time  I 
saw  her,”  he  said,  “a  halo  of  calmness  and  peace 
encircling  her,  such  as  I had  observed  in  none  be^ 
fore,  and  the  source  of  which  I could  not  compre- 
hend. I liked  to  fancy  to  myself  that  she  held  se* 
cret  intercourse  with  angels  or  supernatural  spirits, 
Avho  difiused  their  calm  and  gentle  presence  about 
her,  as  w^e  read  of  in  old  stories.  I did  not  under- 
stand then  that  she  did  indeed  hold  constant  com- 
munion with  the  highest  of  all  beings,  the  great 
Invisible  One,  and  that  the  light  reflected  here  so 
beautifully  w^as  all  derived  from  that  source.” 
Leonard  smiled  as  Lloyd  spoke.  He  thought  of 
his  watchwa^rd,  and  he  knew  that  his  sister  must 
have  thought  of  it  also.” 


24^ 


282 


THE  BROTHER'S  WATCHWORD. 


Georgina  meanwhile  spent  long  hours  with  her 
soldier  brother.  The  profession  he  had  chosen  in 
his  early  and  wilful  rashness  was  still  the  one  he 
loved  and  desired  to  be  engaged  in ; and,  after  a 
stay  of  some  weeks  at  Beechwood,  he  was  to  join 

at  C the  regiment  in  which  he  had  purchased 

a commission.  So  she  saw  comparatively  little  of 
Lloyd,  but  was  content,  knowing  that  her  place  was 
now  more  than  supplied,  and  that  this  intercourse 
must  be  of  benefit  to  him. 

So,  one  lovely  morning,  early  in  June,  Lloyd 
quitted  Beechwood.  He  came  into  the  library, 
where  Georgina  was  before  her  easel,  painting,  to 
say  “ Good-bye.” 

I am  sorry,  so  sorry  you  are  going,”  she  said ; 
and  she  took  his  hand  affectionately. 

“ I shall  often  think  of  you,  Constance.  I 
shall  have  reason,”  he  added,  in  a graver  tone. 

And  now  you  must  not  be  sorry,  but  pray  that 
I may  be  brave  and  strong,  and  that  God  will 
use  me  in  his  service,  and  that  I may  live  to 
him.” 

“ I shall,”  she  answered,  in  a low  voice.  And  she 
thought  of  all  her  prayers — and  w^hat  prayers — for 
him  in  days  and  months  gone  by.  There  was  not 
need  to  tell  her  to  pray  on. 

“ Your  pictures  shall  be  sent  you,  Connie — all 
but  one.  I should  like  to  keep  one,  if  you  have  no 
objection.” 

yes;  any  you  like,”  she  answered. 


RETURN  OF  TWO  WANDERERS. 


283 


So  he  gave  her  his  hand  once  more,  and  they 
parted.  Georgina  stood  at  the  library  window,  and 
watched  him,  as  he  had  watched  her  on  that  Good 
Friday  morning,  and  then,  with  a short  sigh,  which 
presently  faded  into  a Sioile,  she  resumed  her 
work. 


XVI. 


LLOYD^S  S&CRIFICK. 


Pleasure,  and  wealth,  and  praise  no  more 
Shall  lead  my  captive  soul  astray: 

My  fond  pursuits  I all  give  o’er. 

Thee,  only  thee  resolved  to  obey  ; 

My  own  in  all  thrnigs  to  resign. 

And  know  no  other  v/ill  hut  thine* 

“ Wherefore  to  thee  I all  resign ; 

Being  thou  art,  and  Love,  and  Power  ; 

Thy  only  will  be  done,  not  mine ! 

Thee,  Lord,  let  heaven  and  earth  adore  t 
Flow  back  the  rwers  to  the  sea, 

And  let  my  aU  be  lost  in  thee.’^ 

WHOLE  year  passed  by  with  very  little  of 
outward  stir  or  incident  in  the  life  of  Georgina 
Archdale.  And  yet  such  a peaceful,  happy 
year  she  perhaps  had  never  known  before.  Her 
old  plans  and  studies  and  interests  resumed,  and 
the  new  ties  fastening  closer  and  more  hrmly  about 
her  heart,  she  felt  increasingly  how  much  she  had 
to  be  thankful  for. 

Lady  Archdale  paid  her  promised  visit  in  the 
course  of  the  summer,  bringing  with  her  her 
youngest  daughter;  and  very  pleasant  was  the 
intercourse  both  to  Georgina  and  the  little  Car- 


Lloyd’s  sacrifice. 


285 


oline,  whose  grateful  and  affectionate  love  to  her 
favorite  cousin  the  short  separation  had  increased 
rather  than  diminished.  With  thankful  joy  Geor- 
gina found  that  the  words  of  life  she  had  so  often 
read  to  and  with  this  dear  child  seemed  to  have 
taken  root  in  her  heart,  and,  working  surely  hut 
silently,  were  bringing  forth  the  fruits  of  a careful 
and  holy  life.  She  was  her  mother’s  chosen  com- 
panion now%  having,  ever  since  Georgina’s  depart- 
ure from  Leighton,  taken  up  her  post  in  reading 
the  daily  portions,  morning  and  evening,  from  the 
sacred  book. 

With  lady  Archdale  came  the  tidings  of  Walter’s 
departure.  His  uncle  had  at  length  satisfied  his 
wishes,  bought  him  a commission,  and  he  had  sailed 
for  India,  the  land  where  his  father  and  mother 
slept,  full  of  buoyant  hopes  and  eager  longings  for 
the  distinctions  and  renown  which  a military  course 
seemed  to  open  out  before  him.  He  wrote  to 
Georgina,  telling  her  with  joy  of  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  hopes,  and  how  bright  and  happy  life 
had  now  become  to  him  ; only,  he  added,  ‘‘  I don’t 
care  to  think  too  much  about  the  past,  or  the  dis- 
tant future,  for  fear  the  dark  shadow  of  former  days 
should  return.” 

Georgina  felt  that  his  anchor  had  fastened  on  a 
shifting  sand,  and  she  dreaded  what  the  consequence 
might  be,  w^hen  the  storm  of  temptation  arose.  She 
feared  more  for  Walter  when  the  prospect  was  per- 
fectly bright  and  cloudless,  than  when  the  storms  of 


286 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


adversity  had  darkened  his  path.  She  felt  sure  that 
he  knew  the  way  of  truth,  and  that  in  his  innermost 
heart  he  was  persuaded  that  it  was  the  only  one  of 
rest  and  safety ; but  she  doubted  much  whether 
he  had  ever  really  desired  to  follow  it,  whether 
there  had  ever  been  an  earnest  and  sincere  seeking 
after  God,  or  heartfelt  wish  to  find  him.  His  infidel 
views,  she  had  long  discovered,  had  been  assumed, 
not  from  conviction,  but  from  a sullen  determina- 
tion to  banish  all  religious  thoughts  from  his  mind. 
He  had  ceased  to  bring  them  forward  long  before 
she  had  left  Leighton,  and  only  answered  that  he 
could  not  make  himself  feel  or  love,  and  that  he 
must  wait  until  God  should  see  fit  to  convert  him. 
Alas ! he  did  not  know  how  dangerous  such  waiting 
may  prove. 

Late  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  Georgina 
again  visited  Leighton.  And  again  it  was  a wed- 
ding occasion  that  summoned  her.  Frances  was  to 
be  married  to  George  Forrester. 

The  wedding  itself  passed  pretty  much  as  the 
last  had  done : there  was  no  saving  of  expense  or 
display : the  guests  were  numerous,  and  the  party 
assembled  by  sir  William’s  express  desire  on  the 
following  night,  brilliant  and  distinguished.  But 
there  was  a graver  undercurrent  pervading  all, 
which  perhaps  none  noticed  so  much  as  Georgina, 
who  remembered  so  well  her  emotions  on  the 
former  occasion. 


Lloyd’s  sacrifice. 


287 


And  the  one  who  was  the  gayest  and  most  ani- 
mated of  all  then,  was  absent  now. 

Lloyd,  who  was  just  on  the  eve  of  an  important 
examination,  and  who  felt  also  that  the  gaiety  and 
dissipation  of  such  a scene,  at  such  a time,  would 
jar  painfully  on  his  mind,  deeply  occupied  with  the 
grave  and  solemn  responsibilities  before  him,  did 
not  come  to  his  sister’s  marriage. 

The  bustle  and  excitement  past,  things  gradually 
relapsed  into  a more  quiet  and  even  course,  al- 
though Augusta,  now  released  from  all  governess 
control,  and  settled  into  the  admired,  but  somewhat 
stately.  Miss  Archdale,  could  not  be  content  with- 
out enjoying  as  much  company,  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  as  her  papa  could  possibly  be  persuaded  to 
allow. 

Georgina  remained  at  Leighton  for  nearly  a 
month  after  her  cousin’s  marriage.  The  Hall 
seemed  a strange  and  almost  different  place  to  her, 
with  so  many  of  its  old  inmates  removed  ; and  yet 
it  was  a pleasant  time  to  her.  Clara  and  Arthur 
Isbel  was  there,  with  their  boy,  a beautiful 
child,  just  entering  on  his  second  year;  and  Geor- 
gina soon  formed  a strong  attachment  to  her 
cousins,  who  had  strangely  interested  her  on  her 
first  visit,  short  though  the  interview  with  them 
had  then  been. 

The  evening  before  the  day  fixed  on  for  her  re- 
turn to  Beechwood,  Georgina  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room at  Leighton.  Her  aunt  was  there  on  a sofa, 


288  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

Clara  and  her  husband,  Augusta,  Flora  Legh  and 
her  brother,  a young  officer  just  returned  from 
South  America,  with  some  other  young  people  who 
had  been  spending  the  evening  at  Leighton. 

Georgina  sat  in  a recess  of  one  of  the  large  win- 
dows, her  work-frame  before  her  as  usual : she  was 
finishing  a chair  which  Augusta  had  begun  for  her 
sister,  but  given  up  in  despair.  She  looked  a little 
grave  and  thoughtful  as  she  bent  over  her  work, 
and  from  time  to  time  raised  her  head,  turning  it 
in  the  direction  of  the  opened  window  and  the  park, 
and  not  towards  her  companions,  who  appeared 
very  cheerful,  and  much  amused  by  what  the  noisy 
young  lieutenant  was  advancing. 

For  they  were  expecting  Lloyd  that  night;  and 
she  remembered  that  other  waiting-time ; the  long, 
lonely  hours ; the  terrible  suspense ; the  agonizing 
fear  that  had  accompanied  his  arrival  then.  And 
yet,  as  the  results,  even  of  that  terrible  catastrophe, 
presented  themselves  to-  her  mind,  and  she  saw  how 
sorrow  had  worked  out  joy,  and  fear  and  dreadful 
anguish  had  been  succeeded  by  peace,  and  calm, 
trusting  faith,  the  shade  of  anxiety  passed  from  her 
brow,  and  her  eyes  were  turned  less  frequently  to 
the  park-^rive,  and  the  white  lodge  in  the  distance. 

Augusta  came  to  the  window  at  length,  with 
Herbert  Legh;  and,  just  as  she  approached,  the 
carriage  came  in  sight,  and  she  was  the  first  to  ex- 
claim that  Lloyd,  after  a six  months’  absence,  was 
home  again.  r 


Lloyd’s  sacrifice. 


289 


“ How  well  he  looks  ! how  clear ! how  handsome  ! 
only  a little  too  ecclesiastical,”  were  her  exclama- 
tions, as  her  brother  entered  the  room ; and  Lloyd 
smiled  his  old  bright  smile,  and  greeted  his  mother 
and  sister  with  a loving  afFection  which  was  once 
unknown  to  him.  And  then  he  gave  his  hand  to 
his  old  friend.  Flora,  who  welcomed  him  warmly? 
and  introduced  him  to  Herbert;  and  then  he  asks 
for  his  father,  Georgina  all  the  while  quietly  wait- 
ing for  her  turn  to  come,  as  she  sits  half  hidden 
by  the  muslin  curtains  in  the  recess  of  the  great 
window. 

“And  Georgie,  where  is  she?”  he  asked;  and 
would  have  wondered,  had  he  not  known  her  well, 
at  the  apparent  coolness  which  kept  her  there, 
while  all  the  others  had  gathered  round  him  so 
eagerly. 

It  was  a year  since  they  had  met ; and  perhaps 
both  were  a little  changed,  Georgina  at  any  rate. 
She  was  taller,  less  of  the  child,  though  not  very 
womanish  even  now  ; and  the^  color  came  into  her 
cheek  just  as  of  old,  w’hen  he  sought  her  out;  and 
she  rose  from  her  wmrk  to  meet  him.  Sir  William 
soon  appeared,  overjoyed  to  see  his  son ; and  the 
family  were  shortly  afterwards  summoned  to  din- 
ner. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Augusta  proposed  a turn 
on  the  terrace.  It  was  a beautiful  moonlight  night, 
and  the  carved  stonework  of  the  fountains,  and  the 
white  vases  and  statues  in  the  garden  stood  out 
25 


290 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


cleaily  and  coldly  in  the  pure  light,  casting  fair 
shadows,  and  giving  that  radiance  to  the  scene 
which  perhaps  has  more  of  charm  than  the  full 
genial  glow  and  depth  of  sun-light.  Her  proposal 
was  instantly  agreed  to,  and  soon  cheerful  meriy 
voices  resounded  through  the  night  air. 

“ Too  cold  for  you,  eh,  Georgie  ?”  said  sir  Wil- 
liam, as,  muffled  up  in  her  aunt’s  plaid,  she  emerged 
through  the  low  open  windows  of  the  library  into 
the  broad  terrace-walk. 

“ No,  uncle : it  is  so  very  beautiful,”  she  an- 
swered. “ I love  the  moonlight : it  is  so  pure  and 
quiet.” 

“ Then  take  my  arm,  little  sentimental  one,”  he 
said  laughing.  “ You  seem  well  wrapped,  at  any 
rate.” 

Lloyd  was  w^alking  by  his  father’s  side,  his  arm 
linked  in  his ; and  for  half  an  hour  they  paced  thus, 
sir  William  telling  his  son  of  much  that  had  occur- 
red during  his  absence — improvements,  alterations, 
the  arrival  of  fresh  tenants,  and  the  departure  of 
old  ones  : to  all  of  which  Lloyd  listened  with  a 
cheerful  interest, commenting  and  advising  in  away 
which  evinced  such  good  sense  and  judgment,  as 
surprised  his  father,  wfflo  had  been  accustomed  to 
meet  with  no  sympathy  whatever  in  his  favorite 
schemes,  from  that  quarter  more  especially. 

At  length  sir  William  suddenly  perceived  the 
air  to  have  become  peculiarly  keen,  and,  on  reach- 
ing the  hall  door  for  the  fourteenth  time,  turned  in, 


Lloyd's  sacrifice. 


291 


to  enjoy  his  evening  cigar  and  nap,  leaving  the  cou- 
sins to  pursue  their  walk  together.  And  Georgina 
gathered  her  plaid  closer  round  her,  and  Lloyd’s 
step  became  more  firm  and  measured,  and  they 
passed  one  or  two  groups  of  cheerful  talkers  ere 
either  spoke.  And  then  Lloyd  said  : 

“ Constance,  on  Trinity  Sunday  I am  to  be  or- 
dained.” 

“ So  soon ! I am  very  thankful.”  And  every 
little  word,  as  it  came  quietly  from  her  lips,  told 
that  she  was  so. 

But  there  was  another  turn  up  and  down  in 
silence  ; and  then  Lloyd  said  again, 

“ ’Tis  a solemn  thing,  Georgie,  this  taking  the 
vows  of  God  upon  you,  feeling  that  henceforth  you 
are  to  be  an  ambassador  between  him  and  men. 
And  I so  unworthy,  so  undeserving  of  such  an 
honor.  The  thought  overwhelms  me  sometimes ; 
and  1 tremble  lest  I should  not  fully  have  counted 
the  cost,  and  weighed  the  tremendous  responsi- 
bility.” 

He  spoke  low,  but  with  deep  and  earnest  feeling. 

“ ‘ My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee.  My  strength 
is  made  perfect  in  weakness,’  ” repeated  Georgina. 
‘‘‘Let  him  that  heareth  say.  Come.’  You  have 
obeyed  the  call  yourself,  Lloyd ; and  your  great 
desire  now  is  to  proclaim  it  to  others.  You  have 
not  sought  self  in  this  matter.” 

She  thought  of  all  he  had  renounced,  and  felt  she 
could  say  this  truthfully. 


292 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ No,  I hope,  I trust  not.  But  if,  through  un- 
faithfulness of  mine,  souls  should  be  lost? — O 
Georgie,  it  is  this  thought  that  is  at  times  so  insup- 
portable !” 

“ I think,”  she  answered,  rather  timidly,  “ that 
you  have  no  need  to  dwell  too  much  on  that.  If 
the  faithfulness  were  to  come  from  ourselves,  then 
indeed  there  would  be  fearful,  awful  danger ; but  it 
is  not  so : all  help  and  power  is  treasured  up  in 
Christ ; and  he  will  give  out  of  his  fulness.  He 
has  helped  you  hitherto  ; and  he  will  continue  to 
do  so  when  your  need  becomes  greater.” 

The  simple  trusting  words  fell  soothingly  on 
Lloyd’s  ear  ; and  he  answered,  in  a less  troubled 
tone — 

“ Yes;  and  how  delightful  to  know  that,  ‘if  any 
man  sin  we  have  an  Advocate  with  the  Father.’ 
I have  thought  much  of  those  words  lately,  not  as 
being  an  excuse  or  palliation  for  sin,  as  some 
would  imagine,  but  as  comfort  when  the  heart 
is  wrung  wdth  the  remembrance  of  sins  hated, 
though  indulged  in,  and  bitterly  lamented  aftei- 
wards.” 

Lloyd  then  went  on  to  speak  to  Georgina  of  his 
future  plans.  He  had  quite  made  up  his  mind,  ho 
told  her,  to  take  up  the  little  living  far  away  in  the 
north,  which  was  in  his  father’s  gift,  and  which  sir 
William  had,  in  former  days,  destined  for  Walter. 
He  had  made  inquiries,  and  found  in  what  a sad 
state  of  spiritual  destitution  the  parish  was ; the 


Lloyd’s  sacrifice. 


293 


people  for  the  most  part  poor  and  uninstructed,  and 
the  clergyman  who  occupied  the  temporary  position 
of  their  pastor  very  far  from  faithfully  fulfilling 
that  solemn  and  responsible  office.  Lloyd  felt  that 
this  plan  of  his  would  not  meet  his  father’s  wishes  ; 
that,  in  consenting  at  all  to  his  taking  orders,  sir 
William  had  in  view  some  conspicuous  and  honor- 
able office  in  the  Church,  where  his  son  would  re- 
ceive the  distinction  and  emolument  worthy  his 
high  position  in  society,  his  native  talent,  and  liberal 
education. 

But  what  was  all  this  to  Lloyd  now  ? Had  he 
not  sold  his  all,  to  purchase  the  pearl  of  great  price  ? 
and  what  availed  earth’s  jewels  of  honor  and  fame 
and  distinction  in  comparison  ? Had  he  not  given 
up  his  way  and  course  into  the  hands  of  God  ? and 
should  he  choose  the  path  which  had  the  least  of 
thorns  and  earthly  entanglements  besetting  it? 
Did  he  nob  feel  himself  the  least  of  all,  hardly 
worthy  to  be  called  a minister  of  Christ’s  gospel? 
and  should  he  choose  a position  where  his  learning, 
or  talent,  or  wealth,  might  be  courted  and  flattered, 
and  so  his  heart  led  astray  from  its  highest  and 
purest  motive  ? He  shrank  from  the  thought,  and, 
as  he  told  Georgina,  firmly  resolved,  by  God’s  as- 
sistance, to  adhere  to  the  plan  he  had  named,  which 
he  felt  sure  had  the  direction  and  manifest  sanction 
of  his  heavenly  Father. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  at  length  by  a 
soft  voice  near  them, 


25^ 


294 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


“ How  unsociable  you  look  ? If  you  are  not  too 
engaged,  and  wdll  give  me  an  arm,  Lloyd,  I will 
take  just  one  more  turn  or  two : my  husband  is 
gone  in.” 

Lloyd  placed  his  sister’s  hand  within  his  arm ; 
and  Georgina,  who  perhaps  felt  that  for  her,  too, 
the  evening  'was  growing  chill,  slipped  in  through 
the  open  library  window,  as  she  approached  it  the 
next  time,  and  hastened  up  stairs  to  lady  Archdale, 
to  tell  her  of  the  calm  glorious  evening,  and  her 
pleasant  walk. 

She  left  Leighton  the  following  day  about  noon, 
Clara  and  Arthur,  who  were  travelling  homewards, 
accompanying  her  half  the  way,  as  far  as  the  town 

of  W , where  Leonard  was  to  meet  her.  She 

took  a farewell  turn  with  Carry  through  the  gar- 
dens after  breakfast,  and  w^as  lingering  awhile  in 
the  conservatory,  where  Hilman  was  preparing  her 
a parting  tribute  of  affection  in  the  form  of  a beau- 
tiful bouquet,  when  Lloyd  emerged  from  his  studio. 

He  asked  her  to  come  in  for  a moment : he  had 
something  to  give  her.  Strange  feelings  passed 
through  her  breast,  as  she  entered  for  the  first  time 
during  this  stay  at  Leighton  that  apartment,  and 
thought  of  ail  that  had  occurred  there. 

The  room  was  unchanged — just  as  beautiful  as 
ever,  though  perhaps  a shade  more  orderly.  The 
bright  glowing  pictures,  with  their  massive  frames, 
the  ornaments  so  pure  and  classical,  and  the  flow’ers 
blooming  in  the  window  recesses,  how  it  reminded 


Lloyd’s  sacuifice. 


295 


her  of  the  first  time  she  had  stepped  within  its 
walls,  and  O how  much  had  passed  since  then ! 
Lloyd  followed  her  glance  round  the  room ; and 
rather  a sad  smile  passed  across  his  face. 

“ It  is  very  kind  of  them  to  keep  it  so  beauti- 
fully, so  exactly  like  what  it  was,”  he  said. 

“You  have  had  pleasant  hours  in  this  room,” 
said  his  cousin,  rather  at  a loss  what  to  say,  and 
feeling  that  she  had;  ay,  and  painful  ones  too. 

“ Yes,  very  ; and  yet  I would  not  have  them  all 
back,  if  I could,  in  exchange  for  one  hour  of  the 
real  pleasure  I have  known  since.  And  yet,”  he 
added,  “ I loved  my  pictures  very  dearly,  and  my 
painting.  Yes,  I think  that  has  been  the  only  ac- 
tual renouncement — giving  up,  that  God  has  per- 
mitted me  to  make  for  him.” 

“ And  you  do  not  regret  it  ?”  for  Georgina  knew 
full  well  ivhat  that  giving  up  must  have  been ; and 
it  seemed  for  a moment  a terrible  sacrifice  to  her, 
and  one  that  he  need  scarcely  make  fully,  entirely. 
“ Shall  you  never  paint  again  ?” 

“ I do  not  regret  it.  I think  I shall  never  take 
up  my  pencil  for  mere  amusement  again ;”  and  he 
spoke  firmly — decidedly. 

“ Fra  Angelico,  the  Beato,”  murmured  Georgie 
in  a low  tone,  and  she  glanced  towards  a little  gem 
of  this  her  favorite  master’s,  which  she  had  ever 
considered  her  ideal  of  all  that  was  beautiful  and 
sublime. 

“ Yes,  he  sanctified  his  profession,”  said  Lloyd ; 


J 


296  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

“ and  may  God  help  me  faithfully  to  follow  mine, 
and  give  up  cheerfully  all  that  would  hinder  and 
distract.  You  know,  Georgie,  what  an  absorbing 
passion  painting  had  become  with  me — milder  terms 
would  not  be  sufficient — how  every  other  aim  and 
idea  was  swallowed  up  for  the  time  in  that  great 
object,  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  me  to  be  a 
moderate  or  apathetic  painter.  You  would  not 
wish  it  otherwise 

Georgie’s  conscience  smote  her  : the  thought  that 
she  should  by  one  word  have  sought  to  dissuade 
Lloyd  from  the  sacrifice  he  had  so  nobly  resolved 
on,  and  which  must  have  cost  him  so  much,  made 
her  feel  in  her  own  eyes  so  weak,  so  despicable. 

“ Forgive  me,”  she  said,  as  her  eyes  sought  the 
ground,  and  the  color  mounted  to  her  brow.  ’ 

But  Lloyd  had  not  viewed  it  thus : he  did  not 
think  she  would  have  felt  with  such  interest  on  the 
subject : he  had  thought  the  sacrifice  was  only  /ns. 

“ It  is  but  little  we  can  do  for  him,  after  all, 
Constance ; and  he  has  done  -so  much  for  us : we 
shall  l ot  regret  it'by-and-by.” 

He  spoke  very  kindly ; and  then  he  took  from  a 
devonport  at  which  he  had  been  writing  a small 
Bible.  It  was  very  beautiful  externally,  with  gold 
edging  and  clasps,  and  the  name  of  Georgina  Arch- 
dale engraved  upon  the  plate. 

‘‘  I thought  I should  like  to  give  you  a Bible,”  he 
said  ; “ and  liere^'^  he  added,  in  this  room  ; for  I 
feel,  Georgina,  that,  next  to  God,  I owe  yor  very 


Lloyd’s  tacrifice. 


297 


much.  In  reading  this  you  will  sometimes  think 
of  me,  and  pray.” 

Georgina  took  the  gift  reverently  and  in  silence. 
Perhaps  her  feelings  v/ere  too  much  in  the  past,  too 
deeply  touched  to  speak.  She  seemed  so  far  be- 
neath him — him  with  his  noble  devotion  and 
humility  and  gentleness,  that  was  once  so  proud 
and  scorning  and  seli->atisfied.  And  to  thank  her  ! 
to  say  that  any  blessing  he  had  felt,  any  happiness 
he  had  experienced,  any  usefulness  that  might 
henceforth  crown  his  path,  had  the  remotest  con- 
nexion with  her!  No,  she  could  not  speak  ; but 
her  heart  sent  a thrill  of  joy  upward  to  her  Father 
in  heaven  ; and  tears  of  gratitude  dimmed  her  eyes, 
as  she  took  her  cousin’s  hand,  and  then,  at  a hasty 
summons  from  a servant  sent  to  seek  her,  hurried 
from  the  room  to  prepare  herself  for  her  journey. 

Lloyd  was  right  in  his  surmises  as  to  sir  Wil- 
liam’s disapproval  of  the  step  he  was  about  to  take. 
But  after  much  opposition  he  yielded  to  his  son’s 
quiet  but  fixed  resolve ; and,  after  his  ordination, 
which  took  place  on  the  following  Trinity  Sunday, 
and  a temporary  duty  in  the  city  where  he  had 
studied  and  been  ordained,  Lloyd  proceeded  to  his 
distant  home.  It  was  for  him  a solemn  day,  that 
on  which  for  the  first  time  he  addressed  his  flock — 
poor,  for  the  most  part,  and  few  in  number ; but 
the  words  of  truth  came  from  lips  powerful  with 
the  strength  communicated  from  on  high,  and  from 
a heart  burning  with  the  love  of  Christ,  and  the 


298 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


desire  for  the  salvation  of  his  fellow-men.  No 
wonder  that  his  congregation  felt  emotions  long 
forgotten  kindling  in  their  breasts.  All  listened 
and  wondered ; some  admired,  and  some  retired 
thankfully  to  their  cottage  homes,  with  the  assur- 
ance that  holier  and  better  days  than  heretofore 
were  dawning  upon  them. 

But  it  was  through  difficulties  and  disappoint- 
ments many  that  Lloyd  had  to  labor  on.  He  had 
not  expected  a smooth  path,  neither  did  he  meet 
with  it.  Mingled  with  the  encouragements  and 
blessings — for  these  indeed  were  granted  him,  of 
increasing  and  earnest  hearers,  prospering  weekly 
and  Sunday  schools,  love  and  gratitude  rendered,  in 
return  for  self-denying  and  diligent  ministration — 
came  also  the  blight  of  expectation  chilled,  the  sick- 
ness of  hope  deferred,  the  sting  of  misunderstand- 
ing, and  the  heaviness  of  many  a disappointment. 
Nevertheless  he  found  the  faithfulness  of  the  words, 
“ As  thy  days  thy  Strength  shall  be  with  increas- 
ing work  and  effort  came  also  increasing  peace,  and, 
at  the  close  of  his  first  year’s  residence  at  Boultby, 
no  feeling  of  regret  at  the  steps  he  had  taken,  or 
the  way  in  which  he  had  been  led,  clouded  his  retro- 
spective vision. 


XVII. 

THK  WBDDIITG. 

**  A kI  thus  all  cling  unto  each  other  ; 

For  nought  from  all  things  else  is  riven. 

Heaven  bendeth  o’er  the  prostrate  earth  ; 

Earth  spreads  her  arms  towards  heaven.” 

fT  was  a beautiful  morning  in  the  summer,  two 

n 5 

years  from  the  time  when  we  last  parted  with 
Georgina  Archdale,  that  we  look  upon  her 
once  more  in  the  quiet  garden  of  her  brother’s  rec- 
tory. She  was  strolling  from  border  to  border, 
gathering  flowers,  and  singing  meanwhile  to  herself 
in  a low  quiet  strain.  She  stopped  suddenly,  for 
footsteps  approached  over  the  soft  turf ; and,  look- 
ing  up,  she  saw  her  friend  Margaret  Murray. 

‘‘  I am  an  early  visitor,  dear  Georgie ; but  you 
will  forgive  me.” 

‘‘  Never  too  early  here,  Margaret ; and  now  that 
your  welcome  visits  are  becoming  numbered — ^but 
I cannot  talk  of  that.  I had  been  w^anting  you 
sadly,  dear,  and  should  have  found  my  way  to  the 
cottage  soon,  if  you  had  not  made  your  appearance. 
I have  had  a letter  from  Leonard.” 

“ Ah  ! no  wonder  you  look  so  happy.  He  is  en- 
joying his  stay 


300 


THE  brother’s  V,  ATCHW0RD. 


yes;  but  I must  tell  you  all  about  it.  The 
letter  is  full  of  news.” 

The  two  friends  walked,  w’th  their  arms  around 
each  other,  up  and  dowm  the  shrubbery. 

“ He  is  with  Lloyd  now  in  rils  parish  at  Boultby  ; 
and  he  says  that  Lloyd  is  so  h ippy,  so  very  happy 
in  his  work  there,  so  loved  an  1 looked  up  to  by  all ; 
But  that  he  works  so  hard — -too  hard,  Leonard  is 
afraid.  Leonard  preached  f ) him  last  Sunday,  be- 
cause he  was  not  well.  And  next  Sunday,  Marga- 
ret, what  do  you  think  ? L’oyd  is  to  preach  here  ; 
for  he  needs  change,  and  is  goingdiome  for  a while, 
and  stops  at  Beech  wood  just  a day  or  two  on  his 
way.  Does  it  not  seem  strange,  dear  Margaret, 
when  we  look  back?” 

Margaret  paused  a moment,  and  then  replied : 
“Very.  I did  not  think,  wh.m  I first  saw  captain 
Archdale  here  so  ill,  and  so  haughtily  unbending, 
that  one  day  we  should  hear  him  preach  in  our  own 
dear  old  church.  What  things,  that  we  should  deem 
incredible,  God  brings  p.bout,  Georgie  dear !” 

“ O yes ; and,  Margaret,  [ long  to  hear  him 
preach.  You  can  scarcely  feel  about  Lloyd  as  I do  ; 
you  did  not  know  him  in  his  gay  reckless  days. 
When  I first  saw  him  at  Leighton,  you  remember, 
I dare  say,  what  I used  to  tell  you  in  my  letters  ; 
he  was  the  one  to  be  courted  and  sought  after  in 
every  ball  and  party.” 

“Yes,  I recollect  very  well.  And  how  afraid 
you  used  to  be  of  him,  Georgie ! Are  you  now  ?” 


THE  WEDDING. 


801 


“I  think  I am  rather : quite  a different  feeling  to 
what  it  was  then  ; because  we  have  been  such  friends 
since.  But  I think  the  feeling  of  extreme  reverence 
will  never  go  away.  O Margaret,  he  gave  up  every 
thing  so  beautifully  when  he  went  to  Boultby.  He 
is  so  refined,  so  sensitive,  so  fond  of  every  thing 
beautiful  and  artistic;  and  yet  he  gave  all  up,  and 
went  to  that  dull  remote  village,  just  because  he 
knew  it  to  be  right.  It  is  quite  in  the  north,  in  the 
coal  country,  I believe ; and  Leonard  says  the  peo- 
ple love  him  so.  But  he  never  writes,  hardly.  ] 
have  thought  it  strange  sometimes.” 

‘‘  I am  glad  he  is  coming,”  Margaret  said,  when 
Georgina,  with  a short  sigh,  ceased  speaking ; “ but, 
Georgie  dear,  I forgot,  I have  not  delivered  mam- 
ma’s message.  She  is  going  over  to  S for  a 

shopping-day,  and  thought  you  might  like  to  accom- 
pany us ; we  shall  not  be  home  till  evening,  as  we 
are  to  dine  with  our  friends  the  Eltons.  They  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you,  mamma  told  me  to  say.” 

“ I should  have  liked  to  come  much,  but  am  en- 
gaged to-day  to  Geraldine.  She  was  here  with  col- 
onel Blygh  last  evening,  and  made  me  promise,  if 
she  called  for  me  in  the  carriage  at  twelve  o’clock, 
I would  have  a drive,  and  return  with  her  to  the 
Grange.  I am  very  sorry  ; but  you  will  explain  to 
Mrs.  Murray,  and  thank  her  very  much  for  thinking 
of  me.” 

‘‘  I will,  dear,  and  now  must  say  ‘ Good-bye,’  or 
she  will  be  waiting.” 


302 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


And  the  two  friends  parted. 

At  twelve  o’clock  precisely  a handsome  carriage 
drove  up  to  the  rectory  ; and  a tall  graceful  girl 
alighted,  and  made  her  way  to  the  house.  It  was 
Geraldine,  the  only  daughter  of  colonel  Blygh,  who, 
within  the  last  twelve  months  had  taken  the  large 
old  manor-house,  a mile  or  two  from  Beech  wood, 
which  bore  the  name  of  the  Grange,  and  which  had 
for  some  years  been  unoccupied.  Not  long  retired 
from  active  service,  colonel  Blygh  was  a sincere  and 
devoted  Christian  gentleman.  His  settlement  in 
the  parish  was  a great  acquisition  to  the  young  rec- 
tor, who  found  in  him  a zealous  friend  and  helper 
in  all  schemes  for  the  welfare  and  benefit  of  his 
parishioners. 

His  daughter  Gferaldine  was  no  less  an  acquisi- 
tion to  Georgina  and  her  friend  Margaret.  She  was 
a blithe  and  happy  creature,  rejoicing  in  life,  and  in 
that  also  Vvhich  alone  can  make  life  happy  and  joy- 
ous, the  sense  of  peace  and  reconciliation  with  God 
through  Christ. 

Very  frequent  visits  were  exchanged  between  the 
rectory  and  the  Grange,  though  Geraldine  was  more 
frequently  the  guest,  as  Georgina  did  not  like  leav- 
ing her  brother  alone,  and  she  knew  his  innate  dis- 
taste for  visiting.  Latterly,  however,  she  had  fan- 
cied this  wearing  away.  He  himself  would  occa- 
sionally propose  an  evening  stroll  or  ride  to  the 
Grange.  Some  plan  had  to  be  discussed  with  the 
colonel,  or  with  the  colonel’s  excellent  sister,  aunt 


THE  WEDDING. 


303 


Mary,  as  Geraldine  called  her,  who  resided  with 
them.  And,  when  there,  he  would  remain,  without 
great  solicitation,  to  the  social  tea  in  the  pleasant 
saloon,  which  opened  out  on  the  Grange  grounds ; 
and  thus  many  happy  evenings  passed,  the  tie  of 
friendship  becoming  more  firmly  drawn  after  each 
new  meeting. 

In  the  early  part  of  June  Leonard  was  summoned 
from  home  on  business  of  importance  connected 
with  his  parish.  Affairs  leading  him  to  the  north, 
he  paid  a long  promised  visit  to  Lloyd  ; and  it  was 
a letter  with  the  details  of  this  visit  which  had  so 
excited  Georgina’s  interest,  the  morning  on  which 
we  have  seen  her.  She  could  not  refrain  from  al- 
luding to  it,  as  she  drove  with  Geraldine  towards 
the  Grange,  although  Geraldine  did  not  know  Lloyd 
as  Margaret  did,  and  his  coming  to  Beechwood 
could  not  be  attended  with  any  great  interest  to 
her. 

But  there  was  no  lack  of  sympathy  in  the  man- 
ner with  which  Miss  Blygh  received  her  friend’s  in- 
telligence. As  the  friend  and  cousin  of  Leonard 
and  Georgina,  she  could  not  but  feel  an  interest  in 
Lloyd’s  coming ; besides,  as  she  told  Georgie,  Mar- 
garet Murray  had  often  spoken  to  her  of  his  former 
visit  to  Beechwood,  and  told  her,  too,  that  he  was 
the  artist  of  some  of  those  beautiful  pictures  with 
which  the  walls  of  Georgina’s  little  study  were 
adorned. 

“ So  he  will  not  be  quite  a stranger  to  me,  Geor- 


304 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


gie,”  she  ended  by  saying,  “I  should  think  he 
must  be  fond  of  Beechwood ; I almost  wonder  he 
has  not  been  here  before.” 

“He  is  coming  now,”  Georgina  answered  very 
quietly. 

No  one  would  have  guessed  the  intensity  of  feel- 
ing which  this  coming,  with  all  the  old  associations, 
painful  and  pleasant,  revived  thereby,  awakened  m 
her  mind. 

“ From  Saturday  till  Tuesday,  you  said,  I think  V 

“ Yes  ; only  those  three  days.” 

The  time  seemed  long  till  those  three  days  ap- 
proached. Leonard  had  been  absent  nearly  a fort- 
night. 

Saturday  afternoon  came  at  last.  Georgina  had 
been  with  Margaret  on  the  tour  which  that  after- 
noon always  brought  with  it,  to  the  cottages  across 
the  common,  where  old  John  Hilman  lived;  and 
her  friend  had  returned,  to  end  the  evening  with  her. 
Margaret’s  company  was  growing  more  precious 
than  ever  now,  since  Georgina  was  so  soon  to  be 
deprived  of  it.  Mrs.  Murray  was,  with  her  daugh- 
ter, going  out  to  India,  to  join  a brother,  who  had 
lately  been  bereaved  of  his  wife,  and  whose  child- 
ren had  been  anxiously  recommended  to  Mrs.  Mur- 
ray’s care.  The  length  of  her  stay  was  uncertain. 
It  might  be  for  years  ; and  Margaret  could  not  be 
parted  from  her. 

The  prospect  of  the  long  separation  was  peculiarly 
painful  to  the  young  friends ; though,  from  many  a 


THE  WEDDING. 


305 


past  lesson,  they  had  learned  the  fleeting  transitory 
nature  of  earth’s  dearest  ties  and  friendships ; and 
they  could  look  above  for  comfort  even  in  this  great 
trial. 

They  sat  in  the  verandah  after  tea,  in  the  quiet 
of  that  summer  Saturday  evening,  and  awaited  the 
travellers.  Their  conversation  turned  on  past 
scenes  and  reminiscences,  until  the  sound  of  car- 
riage wheels  put  a hasty  end  to  it ; and  the  next 
minute  the  figures  of  the  two  young  clergymen 
were  seen  approaching  through  the  shrubbery. 
They  might  have  been  taken  for  brothers,  of  equal 
height ; and  the  resemblance  Georgina  had  fancied 
she  could  trace  to  her  brother  years  ago  was  deep- 
ened now  in  Lloyd’s  fine  face,  paler  and  more  seri- 
ous than  she  had  ever  seen  it  before.  What  Leo- 
nard had  mentioned  in  his  letter  of  his  cousin  being 
out  of  health  struck  painfully  through  her  heart  for 
a moment,  and  sobered  the  welcome  which  she  be- 
stowed on  both.  But  the  journey  had  been  long 
and  fatiguing ; and  she  hastened  into  the  house,  to 
hurry  the  arrangements  for  the  coming  refresh- 
ments, leaving  Margaret  for  the  while  to  entertain 
her  brother  and  cousin. 

It  was  a Sunday  full  of  interest,  that  following 
day,  when  Georgina  for  the  first  time  heard  Lloyd 
preach  the  glad  tidings  of  the  gospel  in  that  church 
where  he  himself  had  first  realized  the  blessedness 
of  Christ’s  peace-speaking  blood. 

He  sat  alone  in  the  rectory  library  after  break- 


306 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


fast,  until  the  hour  of  service  approached.  Leonard 
and  Georgina  had  been,  as  usual,  at  the  schools ; 
and  the  latter  returned  to  fetch  her  cousin.  She 
tapped  at  the  door,  and  on  her  entrance  the  grave, 
anxious  look  cleared  away  from  Lloyd’s  counte- 
nance, and,  with  his  Bible  in  his  hand,  he  walked 
with  her  to  the  church.  Leonard  read  the  service ; 
and  Lloyd  preached.  With  beautiful  simplicity, 
and  at  the  same  time  with  that  true  eloquence 
which  speaks  to  the  heart,  did  he  dwell  upon  his 
text,  “ Pie  is  our  peace.”  It  was  a theme  on  which 
he  was  never  tired  to  linger — he,  who  had  known 
so  bitterly  what  the  world’s  peace  is,  who  had 
struggled,  and  agonized  so  painfully,  and  tried  so 
many  channels  ere  slaking  his  burning  thirst  at  the 
true  cistern. 

Almost  the  whole  of  the  following  day  Lloyd 
and  Leonard  were  abroad  together.  A visit  had 
to  be  paid  at  the  Grange,  as  well  as  to  the  humbler 
homes  of  many  of  the  poorer  parishioners,  who 
welcomed  Captain  Archdale,  as  they  still  found 
themselves  calling  him,  most  sincerely.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  returned,  the  dinner 
bell  was  sounding,  and  Georgina  awaiting  them  in 
the  library. 

Dinner  over,  Leonard  told  his  sister  he  had  a call 
to  make  on  a brother  clergyman  at  a few  miles’ 
distance,  wdiich  might  detain  him  until  quite  late  in 
the  evening ; and  he  set  off,  charging  Georgina, 
who  had  accompanied  him  to  the  garden  gate,  to 


THE  WEDDING. 


307 


entertain  her  cousin  during  his  absence.  It  seemed 
strange ; but  this  charge  seemed  a difficult  one  to 
Georgina.  She  could  not  help  w^ondering  to  her- 
self, as  she  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  what 
change,  either  in  herself  or  cousin,  might  have 
caused  it. 

During  that  stay  of  so  many  weeks  at  Beech- 
wood,  years  before,  she  had  never  felt  a moment’s 
difficulty  in  acting  the  part  of  hostess;  she  had 
proposed  walking,  or  reading,  or  music,  just  as  she 
had  fancied  might  best  suit  him  ; but  he  was  her 
charge  then.  Now  he  might  possibly  prefer  not 
being  interfered  with ; he  might  wish  this  last 
evening  for  quiet  or  for  study.  But,  in  accordance 
with  her  brother’s  request,  she  repaired  to  the  li- 
brary, where  she  found,  rather  to  her  relief,  Lloyd 
busily  engaged  writing  a letter,  with  a brow  quite 
compressed  and  anxious,  as  though  he  'would  not 
choose  to  be  disturbed.  So,  taking  up  her  work 
which  she  had  left  there  before  dinner,  she  w^as  pre- 
paring to  retire  from  the  room,  when  her  cousin 
looked  up  from  his  letter,  and  said  quickly,  “ Why 
are  you  going,  Georgina  ? I have  scarcely  seen  you 
since  I came.” 

“ I thought  I might  disturb,”  she  replied,  hesi- 
tatingly. Shall  I come  wffien  you  have  finished 
writing  ?” 

‘‘  No  : stay  now.  I shall  have  finished  present- 
ly ; and  I shall  like  to  talk  to  you  a little  before  I 
leave.” 


308 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


The  old  habit  of  obedience  to  Lloyd  was  still  so 
strong,  that  Georgina  felt  almost  as  though  she  had 
transgressed,  as  she  seated  herself  near  the  window, 
and  busied  her  hands  with  the  knitting  on  which 
she  was  engaged. 

Lloyd  finished  his  letter  soon,  and  after  giving  it 
to  a servant  to  post,  he  returned  to  the  library,  and 
came  and  stood  in  the  window,  leaning  against  the 
framework  of  the  bay,  and  surveying  the  lawn,  and 
the  smiling  prospect  beyond. 

“ Boultby  is  not  at  all  like  this,  Georgina,”  he 
said  at  length,  after  some  time  of  silence : “ it  is 
bleak  and  barren  ; and  what  fine  scenery  there  is ! 
rugged  and  stern.  The  sea  only  five  miles  distant, 
edged  with  grey  frowning  rocks,  against  which 
large  waves  beat  when  the  tide  comes  in,  and  the 
gale  is  high.  Even  on  quiet  days  inland  there  is 
something  tumultuous  and  restless  on  that  coast.” 

“I  did  not  know  you  were  so  near  the  sea,” 
Georgie  remarked,  as  her  cousin  seemed  waiting 
for  some  response.  ‘‘  It  must  be  very  grand.” 

“ And  the  people  seem  to  partake  somewhat  of 
the  character  of  their  scenery.  They  are  rough  and 
immovable,  not  like  the  simple  country  people  in 
these  inland  districts,  whose  hearts  and  homes  seem 
so  accessible,  and  whose  very  rusticity  appears 
courteous.” 

There  was  another  pause,  which  seemed  to  suggest 
a remark,  and  Georgina  said  ; 


THE  WEDDING. 


309 


Still  you  are  happy  there,  Lloyd : they  are  not 
all  rude  and  inaccessible.” 

“ There  is  very  much  to  encourage,”  Lloyd 
answered  ; ‘‘  and  I am,  as  you  ask,  Georgina,  happy 
in  my  work,  I believe  it  is  the  post  for  which  God 
assigned  me,  and  I cannot  but  feel  happy  in  that. 
There  is  much  to  be  done ; scope  for  usefulness  and 
serious  effort  at  every  turn.  But  I have  my  lonely 
moments  at  times — moments  when  I need  a cheer- 
ing voice  and  helping  hand,  when  all  looks  cloudy, 
and  it  seems  as  though  my  unaided  effort  were  of 
no  avail.  There  were  times,  last  winter,  when  I 
felt  this  need  so  painfully,  that,  on  returning  from 
my  parochial  visits  I was  depressed,  nay,  almost 
overwhelmed,  by  the  void  which  the  absence  of  hu- 
man sympathy  seemed  to  create.” 

“It  must  have  been  very  lonely  for  you.  Might 
not  a curate  be  a great  comfort  and  assistance 
suggested  Georgina. 

“ And  it  may  appear  strange  to  you,  Georgina,” 
Lloyd  continued,  taking  no  notice  of  his  cousin’s 
suggestion,  “ that,  in  these  lonely  moments,  these 
seasons  of  wearisome  dejection,  my  thoughts  have 
invariably  turned  in  the  direction  of  Beech  wood.” 
“Strange  that  he  should  never  have  written,” 
thought  Georgina,  as  the  remembrance  of  the  only 
two  or  three  short  business  letters  which  had  reached 
the  rectory  for  the  past  year  and  a half,  came  into 
her  mind  ; but  she  only  answered — 

“ Leonard,  I know,  has  never  availed  himself  of 


810 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


such  assistance,  though  at  times  he  has  talked  of  it ; 
but  this  parish  is  so  small,  and  he  is  strong.” 

“ It  has  not  been  so  much  Leonard  whose  recol- 
lection has  had  strange  power  and  control  over 
me,”  said  Lloyd,  in  a tone  which  sent  a quick  thrill 
through  the  heart  of  Georgina,  as  she  bent  yet 
closer  over  her  work  to  conceal  the  old  blush  which 
she  felt  gathering  across  her  face — “ not  so  much 
Leonard,  whose  image,  in  these  moments,  desolate 
and  gloomy  though  they  were,  had  power  to  nerve 
my  drooping  energies,  and  kindle  hope  and  trust 
within  my  heart.” 

He  paused : and  there  was  a lengthened  silence, 
only  interrupted  by  the  hum  of  bees  as  they  hovered 
past  the  open  window,  and  the  song  of  an  evening 
bird  in  the  trees  beyond  the  garden. 

I have  at  such  times  fondly  thought  of  one  who 
was  ever  a true  and  faithful  friend  to  me,  and  whom, 
whether  the  blessing  of  her  love  be  granted  me  or 
no,  I shall  have  cause  to  remember  until  death,  with 
no  ordinary  affection  and  gratitude.  I have  some- 
times, when  wearied  and  discouraged  with  the  care 
of  outward  things,  wondered  whether,  if  she  knew 
all,  she  would  be  sorry — fancied,  it  may  perhaps, 
have  been  but  a fancy,  a self-delusion — that  she 
would  come  to  me.” 

His  voice  was  troubled  with  emotion.  She  could 
not  bear  to  hear  him  speak  so  ; a large  tear  dropped 
upon  her  work,  which  she  held  but  loosely  in  he 
trembling  fingers. 


THE  WEDDING. 


311 


'•  Constance,  is  it  too  much  to  ask  ? Will  you 
comef’ 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
She  placed  both  her  own  within  it,  tearfully,  but 
confidingly,  as  a child  gives  up  its  possessions  un- 
reservedly into  a mother’s  keeping,  saying  only 
very  gently,  “I  am  not  worthy,  dear  Lloyd.” 

Lloyd  pressed  them  very  closely,  but  for  a while 
spoke  not,  Georgina  felt  that  he  was  praying. 

“ It  is  no  new  thing,  my  own  one,”  he  said, 
fondly,  when  he  spoke  again,  ‘‘  this  deep,  absorbing 
love,  which  I feel  for  you  in  my  heart  even  in  my 
calmest  and  most  religious  moments.  The  growth 
has  been  long  and  very  firm ; the  only  chilling 
breath  that  has  ever  nipped  it,  the  dreary  thought 
that  possibly  it  might  not  be  reciprocated.  But  O, 
I should  not  have  doubted.  You  have  always  been 
a minister  of  peace  and  rest  to  me,  Constance,  from 
that  very  night,  now  so  far  in  the  distance,  wdien 
your  sweet  pale  face  first  looked  up  to  me  in  the 
drawing-room  at  Leighton,  the  eve  of  Clara’s  mar- 
riage, until  even  yesterday,  when,  in  anticipation  of 
preaching  the  word  of  life  for  the  first  time  here  at 
Beechwood,  bewildering  thoughts  and  memories  of 
what  had  occurred  here,  rose  thronging  through  my 
breast,  making  a din  and  tempest  strangely  discord- 
ant with  the  soothing  and  heavenly  measures  of  the 
text  I had  chosen.  But  you  came  in,  Georgie ; and 
your  face  wore  the  same  look  as  on  that  Good  Fri- 
day morning ; and  the  tumult  died  away,  and  the 


812  THE  brother’s  watchword. 

thoughts  of  peace  only  remained.  I know  and  feel 
that  God  sends  this  human  help ; that  it  is  not  all 
earthly  affection,  but  a foretaste  of  what  we  shall 
know  hereafter  in  the  perfect  and  unsullied  love  of 
heaven.” 

He  drew  her  nearer;  and,  with  her  hand  still 
clasped  in  his,  they  knelt ; and  Lloyd  thanked  God 
for  this,  the  greatest  of  all  earthly  gifts  with  which 
he  had  endowed  him,  and  prayed  that  their  lives, 
soon  to  be  one,  might  be  wholly  given  to  him  and 
his  service. 

“ But,  Constance,”  Lloyd  asked,  awhile  after, 
shall  you  be  happy,  do  you  think,  in  the  bleak, 
cold  region  I have  been  telling  you  of,  where,  for 
miles  round  there  are  no  cornfields,  no  green  mead- 
ows,  no  lovely,  sloping  hills  and  wooded  valleys, 
but  all  is  barren,  and  waste,  and  rocky,” 

‘‘  I love  you,  Lloyd,”  was  all  the  answer  she 
gave  in  reply ; and  with  this  answer  Lloyd  was  well 
satisfied. 

“ Leonard,”  inquired  Lloyd,  as,  when  the  evening 
was  far  advanced,  the  young  rector  returned  to  his 
home,  “ what  j^unishment  did  the  man  deserve,  in 
ancient  times,  who,  after  hospitable  reception  and 
entertainment,  departed,  robbing  his  host  and  ben- 
efactor of  his  penates  ?” 

Ah  1”  said  Leonard,  whose  quick  ear  detected 
somewhat  farther  than  the  question  at  first  sound 
might  convey,  “ my  memory  fails  me ; ask 
Georgie.” 


THE  WEDDING. 


313 


But  the  smile  sobered,  as,  at  the  thought  of  leav- 
ing him,  the  sister’s  grief  burst  forth,  and  she  threw 
herself  into  his  arms. 

“ Leonard,  dearest  brother,  am  I ungrateful 

“ Nay,  nay,  Georgie,”  he  answered,  ‘‘  I yield  you 
up  willingly  : my  affection  and  care  will  be  worthily 
replaced ; I can  confide  you  to  him  without  one 
pang  of  mistrust.” 

“ Not  as  once  before,”  murmured  Lloyd,  as 
Leonard  placed  his  sister’s  hand  in  his,  and  gave 
them  both  his  blessing. 

The  wedding  was  not  very  long  deferred ; for 
Mrs.  Murray  and  Margaret  were  leaving  for  India 
at  the  close  of  the  autumn,  and  their  presence  on 
the  occasion  could  not  be  dispensed  with.  Sir 
William  Archdale  was  very  anxious  that  it  should 
take  place  at  Leighton ; but  this  both  Leonard  and 
Georgina  declined,  the  latter  by  far  preferring  the 
calm  and  quietude  of  the  little  country  village  to 
the  show  and  grandeur  of  the  Hall.  At  the  same 
time  all  the  family  were  urged  to  be  present  at  the 
ceremony. 

Georgina  sat  alone  in  her  room  on  the  morning 
of  the  eventful  day,  a bright  and  cheerful  one  early 
in  September.  Margaret  herself  had  just  put  the 
finishing  touches  to  her  dress,  which  was  pure 
white;  and  she  had  asked  them  to  be  left  alone 
for  a quiet  half  hour  previous  to  the  arrival  of  the 
carriages. 

There  was  unusual  stir  and  bustle  going  on  in  the 

27 


314 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


rectory.  Sir  William  and  Lady  Archdale  were 
there,  with  Augusta  and  Carry ; the  two  latter,  to- 
gether with  Margaret  Murray  and  Geraldine  Blygh, 
acting  as  bridesmaids. 

But  Georgina’s  room  was  quiet,  and  as  she  sat 
there,  quite  ready  and  prepared,  a waiting  bride, 
deep,  solemn,  grateful  thoughts  passed  through  her 
mind.  She  had  been  led  lovingly  and  graciously ; 
she  could  trace  a Father’s  hand  so  plainly  during 
every  step  of  the  past  five  years ; and,  though  trials 
bitterly,  keenly  felt  at  the  time  had  befallen  her, 
yet  how  greatly  had  blessing  preponderated  ! The 
very  trials  had  worked  for  her  happiness,  bringing 
forth  rich  fruits  of  gladness  in  her  heart.  And  still 
one  sorrow  remained  to  be  borne — the  parting  with 
her  dear  old  home,  and  dearer  brother,  the  guide 
and  protector  of  her  early  years,  and  the  loving 
friend  and  companion  of  later  ones.  For  a time, 
at  least,  he  would  be  alone ; and  the  thought  of 
this  was  a dash  of  bitter  in  her  cup  of  happfness. 

A gentle  tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Leonard 
entered. 

“My  darling  child,  I am  come  to  say  good-bye 
here,  where  we  can  be  still.  You  are  happy,  dear- 
est sister,  and  peaceful.” 

“Yes,  dear — only — I must  leave  you.  You  will 
be  alone — you  will  miss  me.” 

“ Ah  ! no  one  can  know  how  much,”  he  answered, 
in  a tone  of  deep  emotion,  as  he  bent  down  to  the 
sweet  face,  upturned  to  his,  and  kissed  it  fondly. 


1 


1 

THE  WEDDING.  315 

“ But,  Georgie,  there  will  be  no  parting  by-and- 
by.  We  shall  one  day  meet,  to  go  no  more  out 
for  ever.” 

“Yes,”  said  Georgina.  “Leonard,  dear,  it  is  not 
quite  time  yet ; let  us  have  prayer  together,  once 
more.” 

So  they  knelt ; and  again  Leonard  commended 
both  his  sister  and  himself  to  the  protection  and 
care  of  the  invisible  One. 

When  they  arose  there  was  a long  but  quiet 
embrace ; and  then  there  came  another  tap,  and 
Lloyd  entered.  He  had  only  arrived  at  Beechwood 
late  the  preceding  night,  and  had  not  seen  Georgina 
before. 

“ Georgie,  darling,  they  are  waiting,  are  you 
ready  f ’ 

Leonard  placed  his  sister’s  hand  in  that  of  Lloyd, 
and  left  them  together. 

When  they  were  alone  Lloyd  took  a tiny  paper 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and,  taking  the  little 
hand  in  his,  “ Constance,  do  you  remember  this 
day  four  years'?  You  once  asked  me  to  promise 
never  again  to  allude  to  it,  to  forget  it  t we  never 
shall  do  that.  I know  I am  forgiven  now. 
Georgie,  you  will  soon  receive  this  as  a pledge.” 
And  he  fitted  the  ring  on  the  hand  which  still, 
on  careful  inspection,  bore  the  marks  of  that  cruel 
accident.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips  for  a moment, 
and  then,  placing  it  upon  his  arm,  he  led  her  from 
the  room. 


316 


THE  brother’s  WATCHWORD. 


The  light  from  the  old  painted  window  in  the 
chancel  fell  radiantly  upon  the  white  figure  of  the 
young  bride,  as  she  knelt  before  the  altar  and  took 
upon  herself  the  solemn  marriage  vow.  She  was 
very  calm  and  still : how  could  she  be  otherwise, 
with  that  firm,  noble  heart,  beating  at  her  side,  and 
that  deep  steadfast  voice  in  her  hearing,  the  tones 
of  which  fell  on  her  ears  as  notes  from  a land  be- 
yond her  present  vision. 

And  long  did  the  soothing  and  strengthening  re- 
membrance of  that  hallowed  service  rest  upon  her 
heart.  Called  to  fresh  duties  and  fresh  responsibil- 
ities, she  met  them,  not  only  with  the  help  of  him 
now  dearer  to  her  than  any  other  earthly  being, 
but  with  the  remembrance  of  the  earnest,  devoted 
life  and  noble  example  of  her  tried  and  faithful 
brother.  Still  was  his  parting  text  her  constant 
watchword.  Happy  in  the  affection  of  Lloyd  and 
the  pleasures  and  opening  duties  of  a new  life,  she 
yet  remembered,  amidst  all  the  scenes  of  home  and 
friendship,  and  the  care- demanding  responsibilities 
of  wife  and  mother,  the  solemn,  searching  injunction, 
so  to  walk  as  “ seeing  him  who  is  invisible.” 


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